


For All Appearances

by fencer_x



Category: Free!
Genre: Fake Marriage, M/M, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 15:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/pseuds/fencer_x
Summary: Rin and Haru have it pretty good: prime spots on the Japanese National Swim Team, a real shot at Olympic glory in two summers, and a hassle-free, no-strings-attached sleeping arrangement that keeps them fit and sated without any fuss or mess. All is well, until they get caught by the paparazzi in a compromising position that nearly brings their careers to a grinding halt—unless they can come up with one hell of a good excuse for what they were doing.





	1. Chapter 1

Rin jolted at the sharp _whap_ of the newspaper being slapped onto the smooth mahogany desk he sat before. Next to him, Haru didn’t so much as flinch, but even Rin could feel the palpable anxiety radiating off him as they sat there, glued to their seats, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I take it by your stoic silence and the fact that you can barely bring yourselves to so much as look at the picture…that this _is_ , in fact, the two of you.”

It was—but Rin was pretty sure that Coach Miura was still half-hoping one or both of them would claim it was a case of mistaken identity, or that the angle was misleading. Anything, _any_ excuse, so long as they didn’t outright fess up that yes, that was Haru with his tongue halfway down Rin’s throat as they made out on one of the long benches situated along the back windowed wall of the locker rooms, with Rin’s long legs wrapped around Haru’s midsection and fingers buried in Haru’s hair still damp from practice. 

In their defense—the paparazzo who’d snapped the shot had been in a very off-limits area, well after training hours. The locker rooms at the training facility backed up to a rare bit of wooded greenery that ostensibly provided privacy—unless you were some scoop-hungry prick who got off on sneaking pics of athletes who’d just been blowing off some steam (and okay, maybe each other) at the end of a long day’s practice, because then privacy meant _shit_ , and you were free to sell those pictures to the highest bidder.

Which was how Rin and Haru had landed themselves here, in the head coach’s office, staring down at a picture of themselves splashed across the front page of _Nikkan Sports_. “Tobiuo Japan Swimmers — Torrid Gay Love Affair?!” “Swimmers Matsuoka and Nanase Caught In the Act (continued on page 3)” These weren’t the headlines Rin had always dreamed of making, that was for damn sure. 

Miura swiped the newspaper off the desk, where it fluttered into a waiting trash can, then leaned forward to rest his head in his hands and began to massage his temples. After apparently steeling himself, he finally worked up the nerve to ask, “So… _are_ you two…?”

He trailed off, gaze flicking back and forth between Rin and Haru in a clear plea for one of them to finish his sentence, and Rin felt his patience wearing thin. They’d been dragged in here for god-knew-what, and the coach couldn’t even stomach _saying_ the words? Fuck that. “What, sleeping together?”

Miura winced, releasing a tight huff of air. “I—was going to say _dating_ …”

“Oh.” Now that was a complicated question, indeed. How did you explain, in a single breath, the mechanics of obsessing over someone— _mutually_ obsessing—for going on ten years now, the ups and downs that came with juggling a lifelong dream and an eternal rival and the way those two things intimately intertwined, the way sometimes the giddy excitement of finally being right where you needed to be got mixed up with the giddy excitement of _him_ finally being right where he needed to be too? He could barely grasp it himself—and Coach wanted to know if they could slap a label like _dating_ on it?

“ _Well_?” Miura pressed, after a long, pregnant pause—and Rin realized he was waiting for them to clarify what exactly his and Haru’s relationship was. Something Rin couldn’t have done if you’d put a gun to his head.

“We aren’t dating,” Haru helpfully supplied in that straightforward monotone of his, shoulders set and jaw slack; he was bored, and he wasn’t shy about projecting it. Hardly surprising, since Rin had never known Haru to give a shit about much beyond the big blue—what did he care if some creep had peeped on them? He was hardly one for PDA, but he also wasn’t likely to get his panties in a bunch over things like sexuality or the judging eyes of the world until it interfered with his path to the starting block.

Which, Rin was suspected, it was about to.

Miura nodded his grudging understanding, but the way he held himself still coiled tight clearly spoke of how uncomfortable he was with the fact that they hadn’t actually denied sleeping together. Good; if Rin and Haru had to sit here and get lectured on the rules of dating-while-famous, then Miura could stand to sweat a bit.

Rin cleared his throat politely. “Listen—we were careless, I get it. This photographer was someplace he wasn’t supposed to be, but obviously discretion is something we need to work on.” He waved blithely at the newspaper, crumpled in the trash can. “It’s an optics thing, we understand—if you need…I dunno, some kind of apology, a public statement, then…” He trailed off, hoping Miura might pick up the slack.

And he did—though not in the manner Rin might have hoped. Miura leaned forward, settling his weight on his elbows. “You really don’t get it, do you, Matsuoka? This isn’t someone getting a little too sauced at a post-tournament after-party. This isn’t an inappropriate tweet. This is _serious shit_.”

“Serious—?” Rin’s expression went bemused, and he allowed himself a nervous smile. “It’s a kiss—it’s no big—”

“There are _morality clauses_ that come into play here,” Miura ground out slowly, locking eyes with Rin and pinning him to his chair. “You signed a contract—the _both_ of you did—when you were accepted onto the national team, and now you’ve just blown it to kingdom-come. You’re looking at some substantially lengthy unpaid suspension at _best_ —”

“ _Suspen_ —we didn’t do anything wrong!”

This got Haru’s attention too, and he sat up straight in his chair, eyes gone wide and white. “But we’re on the roster for the 400-meter medley at the Pan-Pacific meet in August.”

Miura gave a derisive snort, pity in his eyes that Haru could be so naive. “You were on the roster—since even if you manage to get around an outright expulsion—”

“Fuck—they can do that?” Rin muttered, voice gone hoarse with disbelief.

“—Then you can sure as hell bet the board won’t want to see either of you anywhere _near_ a sponsored event for at least the next six to twelve months. I _asked_ to be the one to have this discussion with you, because the alternative was to get my ear melted off by angry sponsors calling us to get one last word in before they pull their support from Tobiuo Japan for good.” He glanced back and forth between them, taking slow, even breaths to calm himself. “Get out.”

“Get…?” Oh fuck—oh _fuck_ , were they getting booted right here and now? Shit—they’d screwed up so bad—why hadn’t Rin given _five seconds’ thought_ to how—

“Get out—go home. We’ve got to figure out how we’re going to spin this.” He waved them off. “I’m giving you leave from training for the next week; I don’t want to see your faces around here until I’ve called you in personally. Keep your phones on though—you’ll definitely be hearing from me soon. And—” He grimaced. “Stay inside and keep a low profile, if you can. I don’t want to this blowing up any more than it already has.”

Rin felt dizzy, not entirely certain he’d remain standing if he stood just yet, but Haru hauled him up and let him lean against his shoulder. “I—we can’t practice…?”

“There’ll be a board meeting—first thing in the morning, I’d wager—to decide what manner of disciplinary action needs to be taken.”

_Discipline_ rang in Rin’s head, and he rallied in a panic. “But we didn’t do anything! I know for a fact relationships aren’t prohibited in our contracts—plenty of the others have boyfriends and girlfriends! Hell, Sasahara’s _married_!”

Miura stood, hands in his pockets. “Except none of the others are doing anything that’s liable to catch the media’s attention—and making their sponsors unwilling accomplices in those activities, by default condoning relationships they may not actually support.” He held his hand out, inviting them to leave.

Rin straightened, frown sour and brows furrowed into a deep trench. “…This is bullshit, Coach. You know it is.”

“I know it wouldn’t be if you’d bothered to close the damn blinds.” He pointed to the door. “Out—and try not to get caught up in any more scandals until the disciplinary board’s decided how to deal with you.”

They walked the two blocks to the nearest subway entrance in silence, though admittedly this wasn’t all that different from their usual walk home after practice. A quiet cool-down as they plodded along, Haru taking the line east, Rin taking his west one stop for a changeover. No gossip, no, “Hey did you see that new—?”, just quiet companionship and the constant reminder that they were here, together, and that was enough. _This_ was enough. If Haru wanted someone to talk his ear off, he had Makoto, and if Rin wanted someone to be more than a sounding board for conversation, Sousuke was a phone call away. What they needed—and took—from each other was not what they sought from anyone else. Which, Rin supposed, was kind of what had gotten them into this situation in the first place.

Rin let his head fall forward against his door with a soft _thunk_ as he fished the keys from his messenger bag and stumbled into his dark apartment. “I’m home…” he called to no one, and let his bag drop at his feet while he peeled his shirt off and shucked his pants in his beeline for the shower room. Sometimes Haru had the right of it: a long soak definitely helped clear your mind and wash away the stress of the day.

Tensions were just running high, that was all—everyone had worked themselves into a tizzy over a racy photo, and all this talk about suspensions and losing sponsors was just to scare them straight. Figuratively. There was no way in hell they were going to drop the two best swimmers on the team—maybe the best in a _generation_ —just because they’d been spotted necking in an empty locker room. 

Right? Seriously—it’d be ridiculous. This was the 21st century; surely they wouldn’t ruin Rin’s and Haru’s lives, and Japan’s best shot at Medley gold in pretty much ever just because they sucked dick on occasion. 

Except of course they would, and Rin damn well knew it—because it didn’t matter what century it was, there’d always be nosy, condescending assholes who’d merrily wave their wallets to get what they wanted, touting social mores and the greater good the whole while. Rin could either bend to their ideals, toe the line, collect his medal, and smile for the cameras—or he could sleep with who he wanted and live his life as he pleased; never both, not for someone like him.

Shit, he’d really screwed himself _good_ this time, and all he could do was sit here and stew in silence, waiting to find out if he was just suspended for the next year, year-and-a-half, or if this was _it_. If he needed to start dusting off that resume or seeing if Makoto needed any more coaches at Iwatobi Returns. 

He could kiss gold goodbye; no more training camps with his teammates, no more _team_ , he wouldn’t even be allowed to take part in the trials until his suspension was lifted. No more dream—and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix it.

And god— _Haru_. Haru wouldn’t put up with this; he’d just say, “Fuck it”—or something less colorful but equally venomous—and decide it was too much trouble. Maybe he’d go and train abroad—maybe he’d stay there, wherever he settled. After all, you didn’t _have_ to go Olympic in order to compete against the greatest swimmers the world had to offer; that was just the quickest and easiest route. If Japan made it next to impossible for him to achieve his dream, Haru wouldn’t hesitate to go seek it elsewhere, leaving Rin to founder on alone, without that bright brilliant sight to chase anymore.

Or maybe he’d go back to Iwatobi and let this be his retirement. Maybe he’d realize now that a professional career just wasn’t worth it. Rin didn’t know what scared him more, honestly: Haru leaving…or Haru quitting. Having to put off gold for a year or more was sickening enough. Accepting that he’d _never_ get it, that he’d never be able to go all out and make that final sparking connection with Haru, to see him fucking _own_ every other nation in the lanes next to them… Well that just _sucked_.

He ducked under the water, then came up again, slicking his hair back from his face, and groped for a towel to mop his hands dry before grabbing his phone from the little shower stool he kept tucked under the sink. He began furiously tapping out a text message—before he realized it’d take him an hour to type everything he wanted to say, and then he was scrolling through his contact list until he hit on _Nanase_.

Haru picked up for once—maybe he’d been just as thrown off his game as Rin by the events of the past couple of hours—and before he could so much as say _Hello?_ , Rin was off and running at the mouth. “Haru—Haru, listen to me—” He clutched the phone close to one ear. “You can’t let this shit get to you, okay? And just—if you decide to go somewhere else, please don’t go to Europe. I don’t speak Italian and—and you could probably break the world record for swimming the English Channel, but it’s no relay.” He switched ears. “Hey, Haru? What about America, Haru? They’ve got some great high-altitude training facilities, and they wouldn’t give a crap about who you sleep with when some of their swimmers have ink over every inch of their skin and probably keep guns tucked in the back of their jammers. There’s a direct flight into Los Angeles, and—”

_”Rin.”_

Haru’s calm, sharp voice brought Rin’s overheated babbling to a grinding halt. Ugh—his head hurt. He’d been soaking for too long now, and the heat and humidity were starting to get to him. 

“What?” he mumbled, a bit petulantly, because he sounded like an idiot, going on about Italy and tattoos and whether or not a world record for swimming the English Channel made up for not being able to anchor the medley relay with Rin. He _always_ sounded like an idiot when he got worked up like this—if he wasn’t outright weeping, he was letting his temper get the best of him, or he was vomiting his emotions into the receiver of his cellphone and praying Haru didn’t just hang up on him like he’d done on several occasions before.

_”Are you drunk.”_

It wasn’t a question, and Rin scoffed his disgust. “Fuck you—I just got kicked off the national swim team and my dream’s swirling down the drain of this tub—”

_”You’re taking a bath?”_

“—And even though this should be the crappiest night of my life, I’m mostly worried that you’re gonna take off for Iwatobi or parts unknown and say ‘screw it’ to your dream—”

_”I’m not.”_

“Not _what_.”

_”And we didn’t get kicked off; we’re on probation until—”_

“Yeah, but you know how it’s gonna go.” He tilted his head back and let it rest against the wall, taking a breath, because he could feel the heightened emotion starting to close his throat. “They’re gonna dick around, pretending like they’re considering all their options, but they wanna sweep this under the rug just as fast as any of our sponsors might. Whoop-dee-fuckin’-doo that I’m seven-hundredths of a second from holding the national record in the 200-meter Butterfly. Nanase who? You say he smoked the Australian team’s record-holder in the 100-meter Freestyle last spring? Doesn’t ring a bell.” He shifted forward, clutching the phone to his face, white-knuckled. “We’re only in trouble because we’re both guys, which is bullshit. We’re swimmers; all that should matter is how fast we go. But one stupid picture, and suddenly we’re nothing but scandal—untouchable. That’s our whole damn legacy.”

Haru was silent for a long moment, and Rin worried he really _had_ hung up this time. _”…Are you crying?”_

“ _No_ ,” he ground out, though he knew Haru had only suggested as such to provoke a reaction. He had to admit that Haru was good at distracting him with anger and irritation, even if it pissed him off at the time. Which was probably the point. He massaged his temple with his free hand. “I don’t get why you’re so calm.”

_”You’re being emotional enough for the both of us.”_ Rin had to snort at that and stifled a rude rejoinder. _”…There isn’t much else to be—until we know more. It’s just like Coach said: Sponsors don’t want to be associated with—this.”_

Whatever _this_ was. They’d never bothered to sit down and discuss it; it’d just _happened_ , and Rin had secretly worried, in the back of his mind, that if he questioned it, it’d evaporate into nothingness, like trying to remember a really great dream right when you wake up. He didn’t care what it was—he just cared that it was fun and felt good and made him happy. He guessed it made Haru happy, too, since the guy never did anything he didn’t want to—so what was there to question?

Then again, having to sneak around and steal moments together probably wasn’t helping their cause. It was why everyone cheered the happy couple sickeningly in love with one another but threw side-eye at the illicit lovers trying to cover up— 

“Holy shit. I just had a terrible idea.”

_”Then keep it to yourse—”_

“They’re only on our case like this because it’s a Big Deal—and it’s only a Big Deal because people think it’s— _wrong_. Secret liaisons and dirty laundry, scandal and taboo all rolled into the guise of two squeaky-clean champion athletes. Right?”

_”…I suppo—”_

“What if it _wasn’t_ , though? What if it wasn’t wrong or dirty laundry or scandalous at all? What if we were legitimately entitled to neck in the locker room?” He didn’t bother to disguise the grin in his voice and was conscious of his heartbeat rising with excitement. “We’ll just say we’re married!”

Haru was quiet for a disturbingly long time, and it was only after a few _Haru?_ s and _Did I drop the call?_ s that he came back with, _“You should get out of the bath; you’ve clearly overheated.”_

“I’m not! Hear me out—look, we just play it up like we’re so sickeningly in love, that we just _ache_ for each other _so hard_ we can’t keep our hands off each other. Maybe we went abroad—maybe during a tournament even! We did that training camp in Madrid last August, remember? There’s probably a few day-trip spots in Europe where guys can get hitched. So we say we got married, but we don’t wear rings because, well, it’d draw attention for one, but also because we’re swimmers. Oh—and we live apart to keep up appearances.” Haru held his tongue, and Rin couldn’t tell if this was good or bad, so he pressed his luck. “…We’re already in deep shit anyway. At least this way, maybe we won’t stink _quite_ as bad to the sponsors? Maybe they’ll be more sympathetic to a pair of devoted spouses struggling to have successful careers _and_ a life together than two horny just-past-teenagers struggling to have successful careers _and_ get off together.”

_”…You’re right, it’s a terrible idea.”_

Rin just barely reined in the urge to send his phone flying. “Listen, dickweed, if you’ve got a _better_ idea, I’m all ears!”

Haru had the gall to sigh, long-suffering and frustrated. _”…They’ll want to see our rings. Even if we don’t wear them.”_

And that was how they wound up with their noses pressed against the glass of a trendy Shibuya boutique the very next morning, about to drop a solid month’s paycheck each on their very real but also very fake wedding rings.


	2. Chapter 2

For probably the twentieth time in the past ten minutes, Rin held his hand out, admiring the ring on it as the subway car rocked and swayed, barreling through the tunnels beneath Tokyo to take him to his and Haru’s appointment to ‘break the news’ to Coach Miura. It wasn’t a flashy thing at all, nor was it exactly what he would have chosen for himself if he’d had the luxury; Russel’s had been nice, he’d always thought, the way it had twining gold and silver bands just like Lori’s. He might have liked something similar to that. But given their impending expulsion from the team, they couldn’t afford the time or the cost of anything fancier or more ‘memorable’ than simple gold bands. 

“…Maybe gold’s not so bad,” he murmured to himself, twisting the ring around his finger. It was a reminder, he maintained: keep this thing on his hand, and gold would stay within his grasp. 

Plus, there was something about seeing that a ring on his finger that made Rin’s stomach start flopping in a manner not entirely uncomfortable. He’d never really thought himself the marrying type, but he’d always envied the quiet domesticity and comfort that Lori and Russel enjoyed, and the rings on their fingers were symbols of that. His mom had never remarried, so he hadn’t spent much time around mature couples. Lori and Russel made it look…really nice, though. So even if it wasn’t real, and even if it was with Haru of all people, he’d let himself enjoy the illusion of being a happily married man.

He had to, after all, if this was going to stand a chance in hell of working.

“…So, you’re _married_.” Miura’s voice was flat, brows set low over his eyes as his gaze flicked back and forth between Rin and Haru. “You got hitched—overseas, you said? Where again?”

Rin spoke up before Haru could say something to contradict him. “France, sir. You know what Paris does to people!”

Miura’s lips thinned. “I’m pretty sure this kind of thing—marriage between two…” He nodded to the both of them in sequence. “Isn’t legal there[ According to the actual Free! timeline, this fic would be set around 2009/2010, well before France legalized gay marriage (2013).]. Or here, for that matter.”

Rin shrugged. “The locals can be very helpful in pointing a pair of paramours to sympathetic parties who’ll perform a nice, quiet ceremony. The legality of it wasn’t the point—especially since, as you say, it’s not legal here. Yet.”

“A nice quiet ceremony…that no one else witnessed?”

Rin frowned, mustering offense. “You think we’re _lying_?”

“We have witnesses.”

Both Miura and Rin turned to Haru, brows raised skeptically. “Some more of those helpful locals you mentioned?” Miura drawled.

“Tachibana Makoto.” Haru cut a glance to Rin, apparently a cue for him to play along. “…I wanted him there.”

“And this…Tachibana-san? He lives in France?”

“We Skyped him in,” Rin clarified, praying the Board wouldn’t want a statement from Makoto before he and Haru had a chance to apprise him of the shit storm heading his way. “And my sister, Matsuoka Gou.” Gou would _not_ appreciate being roped into this fiasco, but she owed him for setting her up with the Fly swimmer who came in third at the National trials back in April. “You know—video chat? They had to stay up till like 3 in the morning ‘cause of the time difference, but that’s what friends and family are for, I guess!” He pasted on a smile, but was met with only a frowning brick wall. 

“Friends and family are also really useful when it comes to corroborating a story you just pulled out of your ass.” He nodded to Rin’s hand. “Those rings look really shiny. Almost brand-new.”

Rin pulled his hand down into his lap, clenching it into a fist. “Because we hardly ever get to wear them—for obvious reasons. Like I said, the legality of the matter wasn’t the point; sometimes you just want to do something because it feels right. Because it means something to _you_ , if no one else.” He leaned forward, squaring his jaw and locking eyes with Miura. “We’re married, regardless of what you or France or the Prime Minister has to say. We got up in front of people we care about and we told them how we feel, and just because we didn’t go down to the ward office and amend our family registration doesn’t mean we deserve to get kicked off the team. You can’t strip us of spots we worked our _asses_ off for just because we took vows to be with someone the sponsors don’t approve of.”

Miura let Rin wear himself out, then leaned back in his chair, scratching at a temple. He shook his head. “Why didn’t you just tell me all this _upfront_?”

“ _Because_ —” Rin started, then had to pause to drum up an excuse. “Because we didn’t realize it was such a big deal! But now that it’s evidently either come out with it and beg to not be let go or get stripped of our place on the team, we’d rather just explain that we had a _legitimate_ reason to be…caught in the situation we were caught in. Not that it’s anyone’s fucking business.”

“Don’t give me that again—it’s the business of sponsors who have legitimate concerns when the athletes they’re associated with start getting involved in matters that don’t reflect their own values. You got caught, and that’s a shame, but you wouldn’t have gotten caught if you hadn’t been _doing anything_.”

Rin threw his hands up in exasperation. “So what’re we supposed to do? Pretend like we’re just normal, platonic friends, 24-7? Accept that we’re not allowed our privacy, allowed to be like any other couple, just cause we’re sticking our dicks in—”

“Geez, enough! Enough!” Miura waved, cutting Rin off with a grimace. He rubbed his stomach ruefully, and Rin hoped they’d given him an ulcer. “I don’t need it spelled out in graphic detail.”

“Well don’t you think it’s pretty unfair to expect a married couple _not_ to—you know, have some fun now and then? And then to _punish them_ when they do, in what they _thought_ was privacy?” For fuck’s sake, it wasn’t like they’d thrown down on the poolside in the middle of practice.

“My opinion doesn’t matter.”

Rin wanted to reach over this desk between them and throttle the man. “Of course it does! You’re the one liaising with the Board for us! You’ve gotta explain things to them!” If they couldn’t even convince their coach this was a legit thing between them, then they were royally screwed, because Miura was the only one who’d be able to bring this up before the Disciplinary Committee and convince them there was some merit to their claims, that they didn’t have to just show them the door straightaway. 

Miura was silent for a long beat, gaze unfocused as he lost himself in thought, then he turned sharp eyes on Haru. “You always let him do all the talking for you, huh?”

Haru shrugged, unconcerned. “He seems to have the situation handled.”

“I’ll bet he does…” Miura mumbled, then ran his fingers through his thinning hair before rubbing his eyes. “Get out.”

Rin stiffened, heart thumping in panic. “Coach—?”

Miura just shooed them off. “Out, the both of you. I’ve gotta figure out how the hell to present this to the Board now.”

Hope had his stomach doing somersaults. “Then, you’ll put in a good word for us?” He groped blindly for Haru’s hand, twining their fingers together gamely. Best to leave Miura with a stark impression of whose lives he was in charge of not fucking over. “You’ll tell them we’re married, committed—and this was just something we wanted to keep private? That we only want to be the best swimmers Tobiuo Japan has to offer, and that our personal lives won’t affect that?”

“I will…explain the extenuating circumstances, as I understand them.” That wasn’t exactly the phrasing Rin had wanted to hear. “I’ll present the facts to the Board, and the Disciplinary Committee will then decide how they want to proceed. For now, though—” He nodded to his door. “Go home—you’re still on probation, after all. If you need to get in touch with me again, _call_ next time instead of threatening to bring down a plague of sports reporters on this place by darkening my door in person.”

“Sorry this has been such an inconvenience for you,” Haru drawled dryly, and the even, blank expression did nothing to blunt the barb of his sarcasm.

“Watch your mouth, Nanase. Hit the grocery store, stock up on provisions for a couple of weeks, and stay inside and out of sight, for the sake of your jobs. I’ll give you a call when I’ve heard anything.”

Rin grudgingly did as directed, tugging sharply when Haru didn’t immediately rise to follow. No sense in pressing their luck; they’d tried Rin’s terrible idea, and now they could but pray it was enough to convince the Board that maybe firing two of the best swimmers in the eastern hemisphere simply for doing what married folk did wasn’t the _smartest_ way to play this. He let Haru’s hand drop away limp once they exited the double doors flanking the front of the swim center, tugging his cap lower over his brow and hunching his shoulders as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweats. 

He settled back against the handsome brick wall lining the sidewalk, eyes closed against the glare of the sun, still bright even under the brim of his cap. “…So do I have to call dibs on a job at Iwatobi SC Returns, or are you gonna just play the best friend card in the end and take it for yourself anyway, after this all goes to shit?”

Haru stood a few paces off, sheltering under the dappled shade an overhanging limb provided. “Coach doesn’t believe us.”

“No shit.”

“…The Board won’t either. He won’t be able to convince them if he can’t even convince himself.”

_Now_ Haru decided to be chatty? “Tell me something I _don’t_ know.” It wasn’t a given; not until they got that call from Miura. So Rin would hold onto that thin scrap of hope for as long as he could, even though heavy, sickening dread was already starting to settle in the pit of his stomach, like being at the back of the pack and seeing everyone around you screaming through the water, leaving you to fall further and further behind. Nothing he could do to stop it from happening, he had to just sit back and watch.

“They won’t believe him, and even if they do, they’ll still do whatever it takes to keep the sponsors happy. And the sponsors don’t want—”

“Do you have anything constructive to add or is this just an elaborate _I told you so_? Because I really don’t have the fucking patience for it right now, Haru— _god_ it’s hot.” He started to pace in a circle, fanning his face with one hand. It didn’t help, but it made him feel better. He was going to hyperventilate if he had to sit here and listen to one of Haru’s damn lectures, because they always tended to veer off into the abstract, and any minute now he was going to be saying shit like _“As long as the water accepts us, that’s all that matters”_ and maybe that kind of tripe was good enough for Haru, but it would never be enough to satisfy Rin. He needed the fight and the glory and everything in between.

“…I was going to say, the sponsors don’t want to lose face. We embarrassed them—they want to get as far away from us as possible.”

Rin rolled his eyes, pulling his bag around to reach the zip. He had a half-empty bottle of water in there, he was pretty sure. It’d be lukewarm, but he was parched. “And like I said: tell me something I don’t already know.”

Haru drew up close, his ratty old sneakers filling Rin’s vision, and suddenly Rin felt a wash of warmth from where Haru’s body heat radiated with proximity. “They’re on the run. They’re afraid.” He reached out and pinched Rin’s shirt by the hem, tugging until Rin finally met his gaze—it was that hard, sharp blue, predatory and knowing, the way it got right before a finals race when he could already feel Gold around his neck. Rin hated that look—because he was usually seeing it from the starting block right next to Haru. No one liked a race where losing was a foregone conclusion. “I’m tired of playing defensive.”

Rin snorted, feigning an even keel when he could already feel parts of himself responding to that look, and he stepped away to put some space between them, hands on his hips. “So you wanna go after them ourselves, or what?” Rin wasn’t sure exactly how well that would play out; they couldn’t even make their case to Coach Miura, let alone the Board. The sponsors? No way they’d believe their trumped up sob story.

Haru frowned to himself, brows cinched in thought, and then he released a soft little _oh!_ of surprise. “…I just had a terrible idea.”

* * *

It was, as promised, a terrible idea; but as terrible ideas went, Rin had heard worse. Had come up with one himself, in fact—the one they were living at the moment.

There was likely going to be no convincing the Board; Miura didn’t believe them, and even if he took pity on them and tried to plead for leniency, Rin doubted he’d succeed. Two athletes with as bright futures as Rin and Haru would be a shame to lose—but a pittance, compared to the billions of yen sponsors might take with them to avoid being seen supporting such scandalous activities as they’d been up to.

That left really only one choice, as Haru put it: they had to come out. They had to take this _public_.

“They want to keep this quiet and sweep us under the rug; we can’t let them do that.”

Rin had to agree, it sounded like the only way they might have a chance in hell of making the Board and the sponsors think twice about just dropping them from the roster. If this became an even more public affair—ousting two of their best athletes simply because a rogue reporter had snapped a shot of them doing what married couples were wont to do—then they might, just might, be able to sway public opinion sufficiently in their direction that they could squeeze their way out of this jam.

Which was why they were here, standing on the sidewalk before the sliding doors of a middling swim shop that Haru evidently frequented often enough that the staff knew him by name. They had to make this look natural—or accidental, rather. Just a couple of guys, with a couple of rings on their fingers, casually out shopping and contemplating their impending unemployment. And if an employee happened to spot them—and those rings—and drop a few hints to a sports rag? Well that was just plain bad luck.

“You know,” Rin reminded as Haru strode through the sliding doors and made a beeline for the mens’ swimwear area, “Coach _did_ tell us to keep a low profile.”

Haru was already rifling through a rack of jammers, pausing now and then to check the ones with purple racing stripes. “Did he? I don’t recall.”

Rin snorted softly and shook his head, busying himself with the rack next to Haru’s. Leg skins—his favorite style, even if he couldn’t wear them in competitions anymore. “You know there’s no going back after this, right? It’ll be a _thing_. You’ll never get your privacy back.” Haru’s frown deepened, and he was flipping through the rack offerings so quickly now Rin doubted it was anything more than rote motion. “I mean, I appreciate it and all, but—”

“You think I’m doing this for you? It’s my dream, too.” He steadied himself with one hand gripping the rack arm—his left. The ring looked even nicer on him than it did on Rin, though it was still a shock to see it, sending a ripple of panic through Rin when it caught the light, like maybe Haru wore it for someone else, before he came to his senses. Maybe if he stared at it a while, that would stop. Haru turned to face him, slipping his hand in his pocket. Damn. “I can’t go back to being an ordinary person.”

And Rin didn’t know what that meant, but he would never get tired of seeing Haru show how much he wanted something, be it mackerel for dinner three nights in a row, a weekend on the beach, a kiss—or to keep on swimming, even if it meant accepting the ‘annoying’ shackles of the public eye. “Then I hope you’re ready to give the performance of a lifetime.” He looped an arm through Haru’s tugging him over to a goggles display, and feigned considering a purchase.

In short order, one of the hovering salesgirls had swooped in to encourage them to make a purchase, but as soon as she stepped near enough to catch sight of their faces, she drew up short, releasing a little gasp. “Oh, Nanase-san! Good afternoon!”

Haru ducked his head and offered a muttered, “Good afternoon,” of his own.

“I don’t suppose I need to drill you on the particulars of our lineup, but if you have any questions, please feel free to…” She trailed off, not-so-subtly listing to the side to try and see around Haru. Rin helped her gawk by leaning forward and delivering a smart salute.

“Hullo.”

“Ma-Matsuoka Rin-san, too? Oh my, it’s a pleasure to have you…” But she trailed off, her fingers going to her mouth in scandalized shock as she realized just what she was looking at: the same two swimmers who’d had their passionate embrace splashed across the front of a circulation several-million strong. And now they were out and about, together, in public. “G-Good afternoon…” she stammered in an effort to save face, looking clearly like she wanted to scurry back to her little nook behind the sales counter.

“Whadya think about this pair, Haru?” He ignored the poor salesgirl as if she wasn’t even there, reaching for a pair of goggles that professed to be the personally-approved brand of some famous Olympian from decades back. Maybe Rin would have his own line of goggles eventually; he’d make sure they had nice strong bands for snapping. “I kinda like the mirrored finish; it’s flashy.” He made sure he handled the case more than was necessary, turning it over in his hands, until he caught the soft little squeak of shock as the salesgirl evidently at last noticed the ring on his finger. “Here, check ‘em out.” He held the case out for Haru to take, pointedly placing it near Haru’s left hand and warning him with his eyes not to be so thick as to decline the offer.

Haru frowned, but he took the case, poorly feigning interest. “I don’t need a new pair.”

“You don’t need a new suit _either_ but I’d probably lose you in the racks if I didn’t keep my eye on you.” He rolled his eyes at the salesgirl, who was openly gawping at them now, red spots high in her cheeks and eyes flicking back and forth between them, and sighed in a manner he hoped bespoke a long-suffering spouse resigned to his partner’s quirks. “This guy’s impossible, I swear. I oughta put him in a damn collar with a bell on it.”

“You can try,” Haru offered smoothly, placing the package back on the shelf with the rest before moving down the line.

“Don’t tempt me, _Haru-chan_.” Rin looped an arm around his shoulder.

Haru tried to shrug him off. “Don’t call me _-chan_.”

“You know, when you react like that, it just makes people want to call you that all the more.”

“Just to piss me off?”

Rin shrugged. “You’re hot when you’re pissed off. It’s a win-win for me: the fun of riling you up, _and_ some eye candy.”

Haru rolled his eyes, then glanced around Rin. “She’s gone now.”

“Oh. Yeah?” Rin craned his neck, glancing around—sure enough they were alone. He let Haru finally slide out of his embrace. “…You think it worked?”

“I think we scared her.”

Rin placed his hand over his heart. “True love _is_ frightening for some. Not everyone has the mental and emotional fortitude to—hey, where are you going?” Haru hung a right, heading back around to the rack of suits before pulling out one he’d had his eye on earlier. “Seriously? I thought we were just here to…you know. Do whatever your plan was.”

“We are. This is part of it.”

“You buying your _fiftieth_ suit that looks the same as the other forty-nine is part of the plan?”

Haru nodded to the front wall, where a set of registers waited. The salesgirl had evidently run to fetch her sempai for back-up, and the two of them waited behind the left-most of the registers, watching Haru and Rin float through the shop with hawklike stares. “All we’ve done so far is give credit to the ‘sordid secret affair’ story. Now we have to give them a new one.” 

Rin nodded, starting to follow. “So—sum up our whirlwind wedding abroad in sixty seconds or less? Lament our tortured fate to be denied our dreams simply for following our hearts?”

“Muster up some tears, too, if possible. Shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”

“Oh _har har_. Not all of us have the emotional range of phytoplankton—just because I’m more _expressive_ than you doesn’t mean—”

“Did you find everything you were looking for today, gentlemen?” The sempai pasted on a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, then began ringing Haru up when he silently placed the suit on the counter between them.

Rin quirked his brows, leaning forward, and directed his comments to the salesgirl. “So does Haru get some kind of discount or anything? You’ve got the 200-meter freestyle Japanese record holder patronizing your shop, here; surely that merits _some_ kind of compensation. Free advertisement!”

Haru cut him a warning glare, then stepped on his foot. “Quiet.”

Rin winced, dramatically miming his pain, then turned around and slouched against the counter. “Fine. We’d probably be bad for business anyway…” he muttered petulantly. “No one in their right mind wants to be within ten meters of us now.”

The girls watched them with guarded interest, and their little shadow eventually piped up with, “We’re—happy to have you in any time? If there’s something you’re looking for, we can try to order it. I—I think we have a catalogue?” She glanced to her sempai hopefully, who nodded.

“Yes, yes—I…am afraid we’re not allowed to give out discounts, but if there’s anything else, we’re certainly please to be of service.”

Rin nodded, mulling over the offer, then turned to Haru. “Hear that? Maybe these lovely ladies could help us get jobs _here_ after we get kicked off the team. You could get an employee discount that way.”

“Kicked—off…?” The salesgirl blanched, eyes gone wide, and she tugged insistently on the sleeve of her sempai’s uniform, earning her a sharp, hissed rebuke. “I’m—I don’t mean to pry, but it’s…it’s really that bad…?”

“Huh?” Rin blanked, feigning confusion at her question, and then gave a wry grimace, rubbing his neck ruefully. “Oh…I guess…you guys saw the _Nikkan Sports_ scoop, huh…” He straightened, putting a few steps between himself and Haru, lest they seem ‘too close’.

Red flooded back into the girl’s cheeks, and her sempai swooped in to save her. “We have a corporate subscription to all of the popular sports circulations, is all.” She winced, confessing, “…And it was a bit difficult to miss it, to be honest.”

Rin sighed loudly. “Yeah, you and three million other people…” He rubbed his temples, then wiped a hand over his face.

“But—surely they won’t expel you from the team, right? You’re both such wonderful athletes! I’m—” Her flush shifted to one of pride. “Honestly, I’m a bit of a fan—I’ve followed your careers since you first made the team!”

“The funny thing about athleticism is it tends not to matter when you get ‘caught’ making out with your spouse in an empty locker room in what you _thought_ was relative privacy—”

The salesgirl gave a little gasp, but her smile betrayed her, as if her suspicions had just been proven correct, and Rin fought an eyeroll; they’d practically hand-fed her the story. It was more of a shock it’d taken her _this_ long to get it. “Oh my—spouse? You…you and _Nanase-san_ are…?”

Rin waved his left hand, and used his right to wave Haru’s as well before threading their fingers together. Haru looked a little queasy, and Rin wondered if he was faking it or actually feeling faint from the conversation. “And the Japan Swimming Federation has decided they’d rather keep their sponsors than let—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, and turned away to rub at his eyes, as if the topic had just gotten too emotional for him. “We worked our fucking _asses_ off to get this far—and it’s not like we were committing acts of public indecency or anything!” His voice went a little shrill, and a mother shopping with her elementary-aged daughter gave them scandalized looks before shuffling away to find different racks to rifle through.

Perhaps hoping to keep Rin from making a scene, the sempai cut in, quickly sliding Haru’s purchase into a bag and passing it over the counter. “That…that must be awful for you. You’re certain to be dropped from the team, then?”

Rin shrugged. “I mean, we haven’t gotten any formal letters yet, but our training coach has made it extremely clear that we’re as good as out the door. We’re on probation right now—missing practice as we speak. Relationships aren’t against the rules, apparently—even ones between team members—but when you’re not exactly in a…” He grimaced, groping for the least jarring description—even if he was full of shit, he didn’t like having to defend what he and Haru had done. It’d been their own damn choice. “Societally acceptable relationship? That’s when the sponsors get their feathers ruffled.” He dropped Haru’s hand and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “It’s just—I mean, we’re not crazy, right? It’s not fair, right? Even if you—if you don’t _support_ , you know…that kind of thing. You can still see it’s not fair, can’t you?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely—” “Of course we support it!” the pair chimed in simultaneously, and the sempai continued on before the salesgirl could embarrass the both of them further. “And there’s nothing you can do…? No way to—I’m not sure, but perhaps appeal a decision?”

Rin snorted derisively, snatching up Haru’s bag and jerking his head for Haru to follow. “Appeal? On what grounds? It’s all about the money. If the sponsors don’t want us, then the team doesn’t want us.” Haru balked, and Rin sighed. “Oi, Haru. Let’s go. It’s your turn to cook.”

Haru faced the clerks, then gave a stiff bow. “…Thank you for your support. I’m…sorry I let you down.” He then straightened, turned on his heel, and marched past Rin for the door. Rin watched him go for a few moments, heart seizing in his chest and throat tight, and tried not to feel like the words had been directed to him.

Rin jogged after him, Haru’s bag flapping at his side, and slowed to match his pace once he’d drawn even. “Well, I must say, your performance was wonderful. I especially liked the part where you didn’t say a damn word the whole time.”

“You had it handled. I didn’t want to interrupt your flow.”

Rin rolled his eyes. “My, how _thoughtful_ of you.” He released a long, whining sigh, rubbing at his eyes to try and relieve the tension headache he could feel building. “…You think it worked? I still don’t quite get how having a pity party with a couple of recent graduates is gonna get us not kicked off the team.”

“Hijirikawa’s cousin.”

“Huh?”

“The girl who helped us—Hijirikawa. She has a cousin interning at _Tokyo Sports_. She tells him about us, and he gets it to the reporting department.”

“Aah…” Rin frowned. “How did you know she had a cousin?”

“How did you not even know her name?” He kept his gaze resolutely forward. “I talk to people. It’s just difficult when you’re around.”

“Oh ho?” Rin’s brows waggled. “Distracted, much?”

“No, you just don’t know when to shut up.” He grabbed his bag. “And it’s Tuesday; Tuesdays are ramen nights, after our weight session.”

“But I already told Hijirikawa-san you were gonna make me something scrumptious. Isn’t it the wife’s job to keep her husband happy and well-fed?”

Haru drew up short, brows cinching together. “Wife?”

Rin laughed. “Sure—you’re the wife. I’m the husband. You’ve got the girlier name, after all.”

“Oh _not this again_.”

* * *

It took, by Rin’s calculations, thirty-six hours, give or take: thirty-six hours for Haru’s phone to buzz while they were doing post-cardio cool downs with an incoming call from a number Haru didn’t recognize. “Might be something from the Board?” Rin suggested, encouraging Haru to answer it when he seemed otherwise reluctant, and he listened with one ear as Haru took the call while Rin lay on the floor, stretching his hamstrings.

After a series of _Yeah_ s and _Okay_ s and _Fine_ s, Haru snapped the phone closed, tossing it into his duffel bag before taking the mat next to Rin to join him on the floor in stretching. 

“So? How much time do we get to clean out our lockers?”

Haru exhaled softly, closing his eyes as he drew his knee to his chest. “It wasn’t the Board—it was Hijirikawa-san.”

“Oh?” Rin shifted into a seated position, legs spread, and began working his groin muscles slowly. “And how many TV spots and prime-time interviews has she lined up for us?”

“Just the one.”

“ _What_.” Rin straightened; he’d been joking. “I—what?”

Haru sighed and shifted upright, facing Rin and mirroring his spread-leg stretches. Not a bad view. “She asked for permission to forward my contact information to her cousin, who wants to interview us for a piece in _Tokyo Sports_.” He threw an arm across his chest, wincing when the stretch pulled. “So keep your schedule open.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard, seeing as we’re on probation for the foreseeable future.” Haru grunted his sympathy. Shit, this was _really_ happening. What if it backfired? What if Miura managed to convince the board that they were legit, and this all wound up being unnecessary? Had they shot themselves in the foot trying to take care of the matter on their own instead of trusting Miura to do his best to keep them gainfully employed?

“No backing out now, Matsuoka,” Haru warned, one brow quirked before he glanced away.

“I’m not _backing out_. It’s just…”

“Going to be a _thing_.” Haru parroted Rin’s words back to him, and Rin had to duck his head, a bit ashamed. This whole thing had been _his_ idea, after all. An insanely poorly thought-out one, but his, and he needed to own it. It wouldn’t be the first crazy idea he’d roped Haru into going along with, after all, and they’d survived the relay relatively unscathed. Relatively.

A text came the next morning, just as Rin was stepping out of the shower. It was pithy and curt, classic Haru: _/Friday, 6 PM. Interview at a cafe, map attached./_ The message continued, so Rin scrolled down, to find the final line: _/Wear your ring./_

Rin chuffed softly, twisting the ring on his finger. He’d started growing accustomed to its weight—which was a bit worrisome, as it meant he’d miss it when everything finally settled down and it was gone. “Don’t gotta tell me twice.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you sure you won’t have anything to drink, Nanase-san? My paper’s footing the bill,” Hijirikawa-san—the intern one—tried for the third time in as many minutes, and worrying that Haru would mouth off if he kept being pestered to wet his whistle, Rin stepped in.

“Haru becomes a kissing ogre when he drinks; better not, if you don’t want to get lip-locked by a future Olympics gold medalist.” Haru cut him a glare and opened his mouth like he very much wanted to refute this accusation, so Rin barreled on, turning the topic of conversation back around to what had brought them to this private little corner of an off-the-beaten-path cafe on a Friday evening. 

Normally, they would’ve both been in the middle of practice—probably rounding out a set of freestyle runs or taking turns practicing the relay exchange. Instead, they were knocking back (or waving off) the limited offerings the cafe had in the way of alcoholic beverages, getting ready to relate a carefully crafted story that would either save their asses or get them thrown out the door that much faster. Only one way to find out. “So, uh, how much did Hijirikawa-san—oh, I mean our Hijirikawa-san, not you. The one from the sports shop. Your cousin—”

Hijirikawa offered a nervous little smile. “It’s all right; I understand who you mean.”

Rin nodded, grateful for the smooth bite of the alcohol he’d gladly accepted. “How much did she tell you about…” He gestured between himself and Haru. “Our situation?”

Hijirikawa pulled his bag into his lap, fishing around inside before drawing out a small tape recorder. He placed it on the table between them, finger poised over the record button. “Before we get into that, do you mind if I record our conversation? In case I need verbatim quotes later.”

Rin glanced at Haru, who shrugged. Fat lot of help he was going to be, clearly. “I guess? Go for it.”

Hijirikawa started the recording, then straightened in his chair and took up his pen and notepad. He was only an intern, according to his cousin, but clearly he was taking this ’scoop’ seriously. “Well, I’ve seen the, um…photograph in question.” Rin winced, not the best first impression. “And Yukari—ah, my cousin, that is—gave me the gist of things. That you’re married, that you’ve tried to keep your relationship private so that it didn’t distract from your swimming accomplishments—oh! Congratulations on breaking your personal record at the Championships in Seoul last May, Nanase-san!” Perhaps Yukari-san wasn’t the only Hijirikawa with a Haru fetish, Rin mused.

“…Thanks,” Haru offered blandly.

“She mentioned that you’re facing some discrimination from your team, though?”

“No, no!” Rin protested, quick to quash that leading question. They _were_ being discriminated against, he was pretty damn sure, but inflammatory language like that was sure to put the Board on the wrong kind of defensive. They needed to pressure the Sponsors and the Board, not whip them up into a frenzy. “I mean, everyone we’ve spoken to has been supportive. Or—as supportive as they can be.”

“And—what do you mean by that?”

“It’s just—most any…uh, _difficulties_ associated with our relationship seem to be rooted in the details. Particularly the _financial_ details.”

“Can you expand on that?”

“The Sponsors won’t support gay swimmers,” Haru helpfully blurted out, using just the kind of language Rin had wanted to avoid. 

Hijirikawa looked like he’d died and gone to heaven, and Rin was achingly conscious of the tape recorder still whirring away between them. “What Haru _means_ is that the sponsors…well, they want to make sure their brands are represented by athletes that conform to their standards. And while Japan has made strides in minority representation, many of the older organizations are still uncomfortable with…lifestyles like ours.” He took a sip of his drink to wash back the bile that threatened to rise up. He just wanted to swim his best and sleep with his rival; why did he have to play the social justice vanguard now? _Lifestyles_ , like he’d ever had any choice in _anything_ to do with Haru. “We respect that…but now it’s about to ruin our lives.” He shook his head. “We just want to swim and be the best global representatives Japan has to offer. Who we love in our private lives shouldn’t influence that.”

Hijirikawa nodded, scribbling feverishly in his notepad. “But—you’re still on the national team, as of now?”

“They haven’t kicked us off. Yet.” Haru punctuated this with a sour little sniff that Rin had seen before when it was time for roadwork. It was kinda cute.

“We’re awaiting the results of a formal disciplinary hearing, but we’ve been told in no uncertain terms that the outlook isn’t good.”

“That’s unfortunate indeed…” He flipped over to a new page. “Would you mind if I asked a few personal questions now? I don’t mean to pry, but it would help humanize the article.”

_Finally_. Rin glanced over to Haru, feigning a temperature gauge, but Haru answered first: “Whatever you need.”

“All right then, let’s see—umm, Matsuoka-san, you and Nanase-san have known each other since you were children, correct?”

“Mmhmm. Met when we were in fifth grade—I guess I was…what, ten? Eleven, maybe? Haru’s a few months older, but yeah.”

“And was it love at first sight?”

Rin coughed on a sip he’d taken to wet his throat, wiping his mouth. “Ex—cuse me?”

“Love at first sight? Were you immediately drawn to him, or was this attraction something that developed over time?”

_’All of the above?’_ Rin thought to himself. “Err, that’s…I mean, I can’t speak for Haru, but—”

“I hated him at first.”

“ _Haru_ ,” Rin snarled, because they were supposed to be playing up this relationship as lovey-dovey and head-over-heels. Haru being his usual scathingly frank self was _not_ going to paint the picture they needed to portray.

“You _hated_ him?” Hijirikawa’s eyes had a manic excitement to them, and Rin groaned inwardly. This was going to turn into just another scandal piece at this rate.

Haru sighed. “He was loud. And annoying. And irritatingly persistent. And flighty. No manners. Selfish.”

Rin wanted to climb over the table and throttle him. “Listen, you _assho_ —” But Hijirikawa stopped him with a raised finger, nodding for Haru to continue.

“And that changed as he matured?”

“No, he’s still all of that.” Hijirikawa had the gall to laugh, and Haru inexplicably _smiled_ at this. Had he finally learned how to make jokes? “But even rocks can be worn down by waves crashing against them.”

“Ah hah, so that irritating persistence proved your undoing, then?”

“I suppose so.” He still had that sly little smile on his lips, and Rin wondered if he wasn’t doing this all on purpose. It was damn difficult to read Haru sometimes, even for Makoto. Rin would probably never get the knack. “But I wouldn’t be who I am today without it.”

Rin felt his anger deflate, chest tightening, and reached for his drink. “You’re damn right you wouldn’t,” he muttered petulantly into the lip of his glass.

Perhaps taking pity on Rin, Hijirikawa continued his questioning with something a bit less emotionally charged. “How do you plan to keep up your professional careers while being married? While many athletes do wed others in the same line of work, rarely are they direct competitors. You’re self-professed rivals; has this proven a source of conflict in your relationship?”

“Daily,” Haru quipped, and for once, Rin just shrugged his ambivalent agreement. 

“Rivals doesn’t mean we hate each other, though. It’s the opposite, really—I mean, of course I don’t want to lose to him, but at the same time, I _really_ want him to win. It’s weird, I know.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “But Haru’s not Haru if he’s not out there being amazing, and I’d say I’m his number one fan.” He flashed a grin at Haru, who rolled his eyes and looked away—a sure sign he was embarrassed. “He’s…someone I look up to, really. And I know you’re usually supposed to keep your goals in front of you to chase after…but I prefer having mine by my side.”

“…Romantic idiot,” Haru muttered, screwing his features up to give another of those cute, sour sniffs. 

Hijirikawa’s indulgent smile went a bit funny, and Rin wondered if they’d laid it on too thick; god, what if they’d misread this guy altogether and he was going to put a nasty spin on the story? This could blow up in their faces, be _ten times worse_ than some racy photo. It could—

“Then, finally, if there was something you’d like to say to anyone—your fans, your teammates, your family perhaps? Or even your sponsors…what would it be?”

Rin straightened, wringing his hands in his lap. “Well—I guess, to all of those people, I’d like to say…I’m sorry. For disappointing them, if that’s the case; for distracting from the team and its activities.” And the funny thing was, he _was_ sorry for all of that. He was angry, sure, but being angry and feeling like they hadn’t done anything wrong didn’t stop him still from feeling like shit for letting down a hell of a lot of people. Coach Miura wasn’t a bad guy; he was tough, but he reminded Rin of an older Sousuke, someone who wouldn’t take Rin’s shit and drove him hard but had his best interests at heart. And now Rin and Haru’s…predicament…was going to give him gray hairs. 

Their teammates, too—reporters and paparazzi would want their input on the situation, and some of them might defend them, but others might feel pressured to side with the Board and their decision. Plus—and this was a rather uncharitable thought—Rin and Haru off the team meant more chances for those nipping at their heels to work their way up the ladder and onto the roster for international competitions. He didn’t _want_ to think any of the men and women he swam beside would use this opportunity to throw them under the bus, but…

“I’m not.”

Hijirikawa glanced over to Haru. “You’re not…what?”

“I’m not sorry.” Haru was staring down at his hands in his lap, twisting his ring around his finger in a nervous habit. “I know I ought to be—and I feel regret, but only…because of the fallout. I’m not sorry for what we did, though. I love to swim, but…” He made a fist. “Some things are more important than swimming.”

There was a beat of silence, and then the sound of scratching as Hijirikawa’s pen flew over his notepad, scribbling out notes as quickly as he could. He then offered them a final round of drinks—and again, Haru declined—before explaining that he’d spend the rest of the evening drafting his first copy, which he’d submit to his editor as soon as possible. “I can’t say when—or honestly, even _if_ —it’ll be published, but I’ll press for expedience. I understand you’re on something of a tight schedule…” Rin snorted; wouldn’t it be perfect for this to come out _after_ the Board made their decision? “I’ve still got your contact information, Nanase-san, so I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve got any news.”

Rin sat there, mute, staring at Haru while Hijirikawa collected his things. Haru was still fidgeting with the ring—probably just wasn’t used to wearing one—and avoiding Rin’s gaze, but Rin couldn’t keep his eyes off of him. Because Nanase Haruka had just said that there were some things more important than swimming, and even though it was probably a bald-faced lie, even though he’d just conjured up pretty words that would read well on a fluff piece and set female hearts fluttering, Rin could still imagine that there was a kernel of truth to them. He could tell himself that Haru said these things and really _meant them_ , that given the opportunity to go back and do things over again, he _wouldn’t_ choose to avoid the trouble a relationship with Rin had brought him.

Because that’s all Rin felt like he ever did with Haru: cause him trouble. And sometimes it worked out for the best, like with the relay, and other times…well, this was probably the _worst_ -case scenario. That’d be a truly fitting end: Rin dragging Haru into the world of competitive swimming only to be the one responsible for him getting kicked out of it too.

“Rin, let’s go.” Haru’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him from his daze. Hijirikawa had already gone to the front to settle the tab. “…Are you all right?”

“Hm? Oh—yeah. Fine. Just maybe shouldn’t have taken him up on that last drink.”

Haru frowned. “You’re an athlete; you ought to know to take better care of yourself.”

Rin stood, running fingers through his hair. “You’re my husband now, though; isn’t taking care of me _your_ job?”

Haru rolled his eyes and made for the door, and Rin watched him go. 

Haru wasn’t sorry. He’d apologized to Yukari-san back at the swim shop, and he did say he regretted the fallout. But he’d still said he wasn’t sorry. Granted, unapologetic seemed to be Haru’s default mode, and Rin could count on one hand the number of times he’d heard Haru express true penitence in the time they’d known each other, but this didn’t feel like Haru just being a dick, or not seeing what he’d done as anything worth reprobation.

It felt like…determination. Resolution. A vocal analogy to the glint Haru got in his eyes when he was committed and _ready_ for what came next, no matter how annoying or difficult the challenge might be.

Rin did a little jog through the tangle of chairs and tables in the cafe, drawing up just alongside Haru as they waited for Hijirikawa-san to finish his business at the register. He let his fingers brush lightly against Haru’s, nothing more. “…I’m not sorry either.”

“You will be,” Haru reminded evenly. “When Gou finds out.”

* * *

Not that Rin would ever admit it, but Haru was kind of right.

Rin held his phone away from his ear, wincing as Gou gave him an earful. Honestly, he was surprised it’d taken _this_ long for word to get around to her. _Nikkan Sports_ probably didn’t have much circulation down in Kyoto where she was studying Nutrition Science, but word of mouth from gossiping friends was bound to carry tales of her brother’s sordid affair to her ears sooner or later. He’d just hoped it would be later, so he could carve out time to break the news gently.

_“Do you have any idea how mortifying it was to learn about all of this secondhand?!”_

Rin grimaced. “Yeah, I’m sure this whole fiasco must be _such_ a pain in the ass for _you_ to deal with…”

He was feeling petulant, but his words must have come off grouchier than he’d honestly meant them, and Gou reined in her anger. _“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not that it’s anything to be embarrassed about, it’s just I had to sit there and pretend like of_ course _I knew that my brother and my high-school Sempai were…”_ She paused, and Rin could almost hear her frowning to herself. _“Wait, what_ are _you, exactly? Are you…I don’t know, boyfriends, I guess…?”_

Rin made a sound of disgust. “Of course n—it’s…it’s complicated.”

_“Oh my_ god _, Oniichan… Are you—are you, what’s that phrase? F—”_

“Don’t say that!” He didn’t want to hear something _that_ crude out of his little sister’s mouth. He’d rather his sister not know the term _fuckbuddies_ at all, but if that wasn’t possible, he at least didn’t want to have the memory of her actually voicing it embedded in his brain.

_“…I was going to say ‘friends with benefits’,”_ she sniffed.

He groaned, his phone pressed to one ear and massaging his temple with his free hand as he paced his room. “Like I said—it’s _complicated_.”

_“Sure didn’t look like there was much room for interpretation from that newspaper clipping I saw…”_

Fuck, she’d actually _seen_ it? This day just kept getting better and better. “Don’t give me that. You know nothing’s ever been simple between me and him.”

She _hmm_ ed softly. _“I guess you’re right…”_

She still didn’t sound entirely placated, and he sighed. “I didn’t keep this from you because I thought you’d disapprove or anything—I just knew you’d ask me…well, all the stuff you’re asking me. And I don’t know how to answer those questions.”

A pause. _“…But when you figure it out, you’ll tell me? I know it’s none of my business, but I just thought…”_

“I’m sorry, okay? I meant to call you earlier, to at least give you a heads-up, but I’m kind of busy here trying not to get our asses _canned_ because of this.”

_“You’re_ what _?!”_ she shrieked, all thoughts of betrayal and not being her brother’s trusted confidante driven from her mind. _“They’re really going to kick you off the team because of—this? Both of you?”_

He settled onto the edge of his mattress. He was supposed to be heading out to meet Haru for another lunch with someone from Hijirikawa’s paper; it seemed another division had taken an interest in their plight and wanted to discuss writing a piece on them. More exposure couldn’t hurt, right? “Well, we _are_ both in that picture, so…” He shrugged, though she couldn’t see it. “Sponsors don’t want to be associated with…this kind of thing. So it’s either drop us or lose financial support. And there are plenty of other world-class swimmers out there.”

_“Perhaps, but…”_ She sighed. _“That seems awfully unfair. It’s not as if you did anything wrong.”_ She paused, then added in a chiding voice, _“Other than not tell me about it!”_

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I? God, I haven’t even told _Mom_ …”

_“You’d better, you know. You don’t want her finding out about this like I did, do you?”_ Perhaps realizing she was being less than sensitive to the matter, she continued with, _“…She’d be happy for you.”_

“Yeah, I know she would…” And that was the problem. Maybe if he and Haru really _were_ married, maybe if they were just _madly_ in love and tripping over themselves to sing one another’s praises from the highest point, expressing their affection and devotion in everything they did, Rin wouldn’t mind telling her. But this was just them trying to clean up after getting caught in the act, two guys getting off together because they could. There was attraction, sure—but no one wanted to turn out in droves to support two people finding each other hot and not being able to keep their hands off their dicks. “I’m just—not there yet. I…I want to wait and see how this all plays out.”

_“Plays out?”_

“Yeah, I’m— _we’re_ working on something. Something that might convince the Board not to kick us off.” He bit his lip. “You…might hear some more stuff about us in the coming days, but promise me you won’t freak out.”

There was a long pause, and then: _“…Oniichan, what did you do?”_

He glanced down at the band of gold on his finger. “…Nothing I can undo now. So why ruin the surprise?”

* * *

“Wait, _what_ division of _Tokyo Sports_ did you say you were with again…?”

“I’m not with any division,” the woman—Mori-san, as her business card attested—reminded distantly, flipping through a clearfile of paperwork she’d brought along for their meeting. “I’m an associate producer with _Sports Weekly_ , a weekly program focusing on, if it wasn’t obvious, sports.”

“Program…you mean like television?”

Mori-san nodded primly, passing them both identical sheets of paper. Rin raked his eyes over the contents—it looked almost like a contract. “We’re hoping to have the both of you on our Monday morning program. Your piece for _Tokyo Sports_ will be included in the Sunday evening edition, so we’d like to get you on the show for further comment as soon as possible afterwards. Strike while the iron is hot, and all of that.”

Well, _that_ had escalated quickly. Their interview with Hijirikawa-san hadn’t even hit the stands yet, and already they were being bumped up for an on-air appearance? Was that even _wise_? Fuck, they’d have thousands, maybe even _millions_ of people watching—and judging. If they slipped up, it wouldn’t just be a single interviewer seeing it but probably everyone and anyone who mattered. Or worse—even if things went well, it might backfire. Public opinion might turn against them if they got a chance to hear their story from Rin and Haru’s own lips (or more likely just _Rin’s_ lips, since Haru tended to button up during these interviews unless pushed) instead of filtered through the fine-grain sieve of a sports reporter’s deft writing.

Perhaps sensing their hesitation, Mori-san continued, “This is quite unprecedented, gentlemen—and regardless of how the chips fall, I think it can only do your movement good to get some exposure.”

And that got Rin’s attention, as he jerked his gaze up from the muddled contract language to lock confused gazes with Mori-san. “Our—movement?”

“Well, yes—of course, gay marriage. Your lifestyle. Being out as a public figure, particularly in a field not traditionally associated with less-than-traditional ways of life.” She fished a pen out of her purse, holding it out for Rin to take. “You do realize this is now quite a bit bigger than just the two of you, right?”

Oh _shit_. All they’d wanted to do was not get kicked off the team; now they were fucking _figureheads_?

“What time should we arrive at the studio?” Haru had already reached over and taken her pen, scrawling what Rin supposed was his name but couldn’t tell. Maybe it was for the best they got driven out of the sport now before some poor unsuspecting kid asked Haru for his autograph and got _that_ chickenscratch in return.

“I’ll have a car sent around to your place; you’ll appreciate the privacy and discretion we afford you after Monday.”

_Your place_. She thought they were living together. “Ah, Haru and I, we don’t…” Haru poked him in the shoulder with the capped pen, insistent, and Rin snatched it from him with a frown. “We don’t live together.” They probably would’ve driven each other crazy, if they did; sure, it would’ve made sleeping together all the more convenient, and Haru wasn’t a bad cook by any stretch, but…it was weird. Scary, kind of. The thought of waking up every morning and Haru being _right there_ , seeing sides of Rin he never had before, and Rin seeing sides of _him_ he’d never seen before. He’d built up this image of Haru in his mind, and they had _just_ the right amount of distance between them that Haru fit snugly into that preconceived notion. Any closer, and Haru’d be too big for it, too close, too _there_.

“For appearances,” Haru supplied when Mori-san frowned in confusion, and she nodded her understanding.

“Of course, of course; I’ll have separate cars scheduled to pick you up at your convenience, but we’ll need you in the studio for hair and make-up at 7:15 promptly. Shall I send the cars around to your homes at 6:45?”

It cut into their morning jogs; Rin liked to take a circuit of Yoyogi Park just after sunrise, and Haru had at some point decided to join him. Rin kind of wished he hadn’t; around the final few hundred meters, their paces matched, increasing in intensity, until they were running flat out in a race, which disrupted any attempts at tranquility or silent meditation. But when he stopped to think that maybe Haru just didn’t want to run alone, he couldn’t bring himself to remind Haru that the tracks in Ueno Park were just as nice and closer to Haru’s apartment.

Maybe they could get some extra cardio in the night before instead.

“Sure, that works for me. Haru?” Haru frowned to himself, perhaps struggling with the same dilemma; he hated having his schedule disrupted, and this was a doozy. Rin elbowed him gently. “If we don’t save our jobs, you won’t have any reason to run at all. So maybe consider taking _one_ day off from roadwork to get this outta the way?”

Haru pursed his lips, then nodded. “All right; 6:45.”

* * *

They ducked into a hole-in-the-wall ramen shop for an early dinner after hashing out the details with Mori-san. Haru had offered to make them both dinner at his place, but when he’d coupled the offer with an explanation that he had two mackerel fillets set to expire in the next few days, Rin begged off. “I’m in a ramen mood; humor me? I haven’t had any in a while.”

They ordered, took their seats, and waited for their bowls to be passed over, silence falling between them. With someone like Sousuke, the silence would be easy to endure, but with Haru it felt like there always needed to be some topic, _something_ to talk about, even if it was Rin doing most of the talking. Not because it was awkward, necessarily, but because it felt like such a _waste_. Rin had spent the better part of his life not talking to Haru; now that he finally _could_ , he couldn’t stop.

“I, uh, talked to Gou…” He grinned wryly. “She wasn’t happy.”

“Told you.”

“Yeah yeah. But she got all nosy, like I knew she would. It’s annoying.”

“She cares about you. She worries. She always has.” A pause. “…What did she want to know?”

Rin rolled his eyes, reaching for a set of disposable chopsticks from the container along the wall. “Just—stupid sibling stuff. Was I _happy_. Were we _boyfriends_.” He kept his voice low, eyes tracking the movements of the restaurant employees milling about in the kitchen before them. It would be one thing to gush about his “husband” in front of an understanding (he hoped) audience, another entirely to out themselves to the cooks in a random ramen shop. He passed Haru a pair of chopsticks as well, pulling his out of the paper sleeve.

“And what did you say?”

“About which part?” Haru shrugged, which meant both, Rin guessed, and he felt the same queasy unease curdle in his stomach as it had when he’d spoken with Gou. “I…told her it’s complicated.” When Haru frowned at this, quietly breaking apart his chopsticks, Rin huffed in irritation. “It _is_. You think I’m thrilled with how things worked out?”

“You said you didn’t regret it.”

“And I _don’t_. But we’ve just done that stupid interview for the paper, and _now_ we’re going to be doing a stupid interview for television, and we don’t know if _any_ of this is even gonna do us any good, and just…” He sighed, leaning forward to prop his chin up in his hands. “I just want to swim. Everything’s so annoying now…”

Haru snorted softly. “I guess it’s true.”

“Hm?”

“…That you adopt your spouse’s traits when you get married.”

Rin had to grin at that. “Wanna hit your neighborhood pool on the way back to your place?”

“Why would you come back to my place?” He made a show of distractedly checking the labels of the stoppered bottles of spices lining the wall before them.

“Cause we already got caught _once_ in public doing stuff we should be doing at one of our apartments; I’d rather not do it again.” He elbowed Haru gently. “Or does that mean I’m not welcome?”

“You _did_ turn down my invitation for dinner; I assumed you didn’t want to come over.”

Rin straightened. “Wait, that was—you wanted to—?”

Haru’s voice remained even. “I had mackerel fillets about to expire; that’s all.”

Rin could feel his lips curling in amusement; he needed to start remembering that just because Haru wasn’t as overtly emotional as Rin was didn’t mean he wasn’t running hot beneath the surface. It was easy to forget, but Haru could be a _monster_ when he wanted something bad enough, and he could practice some downright devious tactics to get it. “…Maybe we _should_ think of moving in together. For appearances.” When Haru didn’t immediately reject the idea outright, Rin’s brows quirked upward. “Wait, seriously? I was mostly joking.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the chef sliding two piping hot bowls before them, and Haru adjusted his grip on his chopsticks, blowing gently over the surface of his noodles and sending tendrils of steam racing over the edges. “…The pool near your place is less crowded.”

Rin reached for the pepper flakes, salting his bowl generously. “You know, if you want to come over, you don’t have to be so coy about it—just get down on your knees and beg, and _maybe_ I’ll consider it.”

“Mm. Later.”

Rin snapped his chopsticks.


	4. Chapter 4

Rin frowned at the caller ID screen on his phone, mashing the power button with a tight frown and snapping it closed.

Haru glanced over at him through the reflection in the mirror. “Coach again?”

“He won’t stop calling,” Rin grumbled, tossing the phone onto his makeup station. He looked ridiculous—his hair was clipped and cinched to be drawn back from his face, and his forehead and cheeks were covered in exfoliating strips, which he was horrified to learn would soon be ripped off like a bandaid.

“He’d probably stop if you answered.”

“I don’t see you picking up _your_ phone either,” he returned, and Haru rightfully buttoned up. They weren’t fooling anyone, least of all themselves; their article in _Tokyo Sports_ hadn’t even hit the stand before Rin’s phone had started buzzing. Somehow, there’d evidently been a leak, and it seemed Coach Miura had gotten an advanced copy of the interview. Maybe he was thrilled about it; maybe he was calling to let them know that their words had resonated with the Disciplinary Committee and the team would stand behind them, no matter the fallout from the sponsors.

Or maybe they weren’t even on the team anymore.

Whatever his reason for calling, it would do neither of them any good worrying about Miura’s thoughts twenty minutes before they were supposed to wander onto Soundstage 3 to start their on-air interview with the hosts of _Sports Weekly_. So he’d just avoided any calls. Haru had as well, but then this was nothing new; if Miura was calling Haru, it was only out of desperation because Rin wasn’t answering, not because he honestly thought Haru would actually answer. It was like pulling teeth just to get him to pick up when _Rin_ called, and Rin was pretty sure that was only because they were sleeping together, so Haru had something to look forward to when Rin rang him up. Miura could offer no such favors, and so his calls went unanswered.

They could deal with their likely expulsion from the team in another hour, after they’d done their bit. It wasn’t as if things could get any _worse_ for them at this point, Rin reasoned.

After having what felt like several layers of skin ripped from his face and a bucket of paint slopped over his features to reduce glare and accentuate what he thought were already perfectly sensible cheekbones, he was tacked into a suit that looked like something he was _certain_ he’d seen boyband idols prancing around in and shoved toward the green room to await being called to set. Haru looked just as pretentious, wearing formfitting pants that couldn’t have been tighter than his usual jammers but seemed unusually clingy all the same. Haru winced as he tried to get comfortable in the outfit, reaching to ruffle his carefully manicured coif before Rin held a hand out to stop him. “Mustn’t muss hair and make-up’s hard work now, Husband.”

Haru frowned, turning to evaluate himself in one of the long mirrors. “…I look…weird.” He caught Rin’s eye in the reflection and added. “You do, too.”

Rin feigned a mortal wound. “ _Ouch_ , Nanase. Be more gentle with your burns.” He drew up alongside him and looped an arm over Haru’s shoulder, wiggling his fingers and letting the light catch on the wedding band. “Half hour of this, and then maybe we’ll be able to get back into the suits we’d _rather_ be wearing.”

Haru continued to frown at himself, smoothing down his lapels. “…And what if we can’t?”

Rin felt the beginnings of a headache building in his temples, and he kept his eyes fixed on their image in the mirror, ignoring the phantom buzzing of the phone he no longer had on his person. “…We can always defect to Australia.”

“Will Lori and Russell put us up?”

Rin snorted. “They’d probably break down in tears if we so much as _suggested_ bunking anywhere el—oh _shit_.” A thought hit him. “Shit, they’re gonna find out too.”

Haru raised a brow. “You haven’t told them?”

He winced. “I haven’t even told my _blood_ mother—you think I was really thinking about how my _host_ mother was gonna take the news?”

Haru carefully brushed back a lock of moussed hair that was threatening to block his vision. “Maybe it won’t make the international news.”

“That’s probably even worse—they’ll stumble across that paparazzi shot of us one way or another, except without any context.” He shuddered. “God, my coach, too…” Maybe Australia wouldn’t be safe for them either; even if his friends there accepted him, tawdry sexual history and all, Rin would probably die of mortification before any time trials.

There came a soft knock at the door, and a producer poked her head in, gesturing for them to move to the stage floor to prepare for their introduction. They filed out, shoulders hunched, and Rin hoped the hair and make-up artists and wardrobe personnel knew their shit, because their very careers depended upon just how well the cameras liked them.

* * *

The first five minutes or so actually weren’t that bad; the hosts—a ‘Koikawa-san’ and ‘Karin-chan’—were congenial, doing most of the talking so that Rin didn’t have to fill the silences for Haru. They’d entered, he learned later, on the heels of a thirty-second montage of his and Haru’s history capped with a brief update on their current situation. Rin was grateful they hadn’t been called to explain themselves, since the hosts seemed content to graze over the sordid details of their ‘illicit’ relationship and segued right into their present ‘marriage’.

“Now—me, I’m a middle-aged man,” Koikawa-san joked, then gestured to his cohost. “But Karin-chan, and many girls like her, would probably love to hear about the ceremony itself. You married in Paris, yes?”

Haru nodded, and Rin added, “Yes—after a tournament there last summer. The team members had a few days of free roaming, and well, it’s _Paris_ so…”

“So it was sudden, then? Not planned? Can you perhaps describe—”

But Karin-chan interrupted with a whined, “No no no, we ought to ask someone who was there!” Her cheeks puffed in anger.

Koikawa-san looked a bit bemused, and Rin wondered if this was a bit of theirs. “Well, I’m quite sure these gentlemen were present for their own wedding ceremony.” This sent a ripple of laughter through the audience, but Rin felt a line of tension begin coiling in his shoulders, as if a shoe was about to be dropped that he wasn’t prepared for.

Karin-chan drew herself up, big brown eyes sparkling. “Of course—but as participants! We should hear from someone who was there as a _guest_ , so we can feel like we were there too!”

“Eh…?” Rin started, lost, and turned to Haru. He covered the mic pinned to his lapel, hissing, “What’s going on?” Haru just shrugged, the asshole.

Karin-chan raised a finger, as if to cue something. “Let’s welcome to the studio via telephone _Tachibana Makoto_ -san, our guests’ dear friend and witness at their wedding!”

Oh _fuck_. How had they gotten in touch with Makoto? How had they even learned he was quote-unquote a _guest_ at their totally made up wedding? They’d mentioned to Hijirikawa-san that friends of theirs had Skyped into the ceremony, sure, but they’d never dropped any names. He kept his features straight through sheer force of will, conscious of the cameras trained on him and Haru, but he felt his throat bob as he swallowed nervously all the same. They were gonna be embarrassed on national television, called out for the frauds they were, and they’d be lucky to land part-time work at _Hydropolis_ after this, forget the Olympics. They were—

“Tachibana-san, can you hear us?”

_“Loud and clear, Karin-chan! Thanks for having me on.”_

“Not at all! We’re thrilled to welcome a friend of Nanase-san and Matsuoka-san who can give us the inside scoop on these two lovebirds.”

Rin winced, but Makoto just laughed. _“Mm, I’m not sure I’d call them ‘lovebirds’ to be honest…”_ Rin felt his chest tighten, stomach in knots, and he knew his knuckles were white, given how tight his grip was on the arms of his chair. _“More like…soulmates!”_

Rin’s jaw dropped a hair, and Koikawa-san jumped on this new thread: “Now there’s a word with a nice ring to it! Right, Karin-chan?”

Karin-chan was practically bouncing in her seat. “How romantic! I know this is supposed to be a sports program, but this sounds like something right out of a shoujo manga!”

Makoto chuckled at the theatrics, his voice echoing around the set. _“Sometimes it felt that way… Two people pining for one another, changing their lives for one another, following their dreams together…”_ He sighed audibly. _“I wasn’t surprised at all when I heard they were getting married!”_

“Now—that brings us back to our initial topic and why we asked you to be with us today,” Koikawa-san cut in, steering the conversation back around again. “Tell us how it was, in your own words. The ceremony.”

_“Well, honestly, I wasn’t there in person—I love my friends, but not enough to fly to the other side of the planet with only a few hours’ notice!”_ Another wave of laughter rippled through the audience. _“So instead, we settled for a video conference, so I got to watch the whole thing live. It wasn’t extravagant or anything—they’ve always been the type to do things on the spur of the moment.”_

“Oh? Have they, now?”

_“Indeed! Back in high school, Rin subbed into our relay team thirty seconds before the city finals started, just so he could swim with Haru! Illegally, of course—Rin and Haru-chan attended different high schools, though rather than driving them apart, I think it brought them even closer…”_

Rin frowned—was Makoto just bluffing? He didn’t _sound_ shocked to have been called on to describe his friends’ made-up wedding ceremony, but Makoto had never seemed a master of improvisation to Rin either. Had Haru clued him in some time in the past couple of days? He tried to glance at Haru out of the corner of his eye, but Haru was just staring resolutely ahead, expression blank, waiting patiently.

“Lovely, just lovely—though, and I hate to bring down the conversation, I’m sure you’ve heard of the predicament your friends have found themselves in? Facing expulsion from the National Team for their relationship?”

Makoto’s tone grew somber. _“I have—and I think it’s a terrible thing. Of course, the sponsors will act as they feel is most prudent, but Haru-chan and Rin…this is their life. They love swimming, and they love each other, and it’s wrong that they’ve got to choose between one or the other. Losing them would be a tragedy for the team, when they haven’t even gotten the chance to demonstrate their full potential.”_

Karin-chan piped up to play the devil’s advocate here: “But without the support of sponsors, the team can’t function. Doesn’t it seem better for the team if they decide to continue on without Nanase-san and Matsuoka-san?”

_“It does seem that way on the surface—and of course I’m not affiliated with the team, and I’m biased, because these are my friends. But to me, I think Haru-chan and Rin will only make the team better, bring it greater glory, if they’re allowed to stay and the sponsors continue to support them. Because they already make each other better.”_

Rin could feel a knot of emotion forming in his throat. What a bastard, saying such nice things about their fake marriage… Haru had clearly been pulling Makoto’s strings, but Rin doubted he’d been reading from any sort of predetermined script. It was one of Makoto’s unfailing merits: he was so damn _nice_ , could dredge up a compliment out of thin air and make you feel like you meant the world. It felt…wrong, using him like this to save their skins, when it was their own fault they were in this situation to begin with, but Makoto probably hadn’t cared at all. Sousuke would’ve done the same, though he would’ve been less mushy about it.

“Matsuoka-san?”

He started, realizing Koikawa-san was talking to him. “Oh—sorry. Got a little overwhelmed there.”

Koikawa-san nodded blithely. “Well, we’ve heard from an outsider, as Karin-chan suggested, but I really would still like to hear your thoughts in your own words—how do you feel about Nanase-san?”

He took a breath, releasing it slowly—and Haru, the smooth asshole, reached over and laid his fingers on top of Rin’s hand. Just a touch, nothing overt, but something the cameras would lap up. He felt his tight grip on the chair arm relax a hair. They were on now—time to put on their show. He cracked a lopsided grin. “Well, Makoto made it sound super mushy and romantic and all, but honestly—I dunno anything about being ‘soulmates’. I just know I found someone who makes me a better person, a better athlete; someone who I can chase after as a goal and stand beside as a teammate. Usually when you find someone like that, you do whatever it takes to make sure you never lose them. So I married mine.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s not a legal marriage, in the eyes of society; maybe we don’t get to see our names on each other’s family registrar, maybe we don’t get to hyphenate or even take the other’s name if we wanted to. But that’s just details. Swimming is…well, it’s something I’ve been doing all my life. And Haru’s made it more fun than it could ever be if I were just out there on my own. I’d hate to have to choose between one or the other…but I know which way I’d fall, if it came down to it.”

Koikawa-san fixed him with a testing look. “So then, if you could do it all over again, would you do anything differently?”

Rin feigned thought. “I know I wouldn’t let us get caught.” The audience laughed at this, and he let his grin stretch to show he was only half-serious. “I mean, I don’t think there’s any way we _could_ do it differently. I don’t wanna say this is ‘fate’ or anything, because that’s getting a little too close to Makoto’s ‘soulmate’ schtick, but…” He shrugged. “It’s never been a choice, never been something we could’ve consciously changed. It’s not picking the left road instead of the right; I don’t think I could change what happened between us any more than I could change what might happen if I stepped into a rushing river heading for a waterfall.” He then added. “So I guess I’d want our sponsors, our Board, to understand that. It’s not a lifestyle choice for us—it’s just our _life_. They can’t have Matsuoka Rin and Nanase Haruka on their team without having _Matsuoka Rin and Nanase Haruka_. Demanding anything other than us together is demanding we not be at our best, and I don’t think that’s what’s best for the team, personally.”

Koikawa-san nodded, and Karin-chan leaned forward, peeking around Rin to see Haru. “What about you, Nanase-san? You’re pretty cool and quiet over there, and that’s kinda sexy, but can you share your thoughts about Matsuoka-san?” For the cutesy front she put up, Rin thought she was pretty good at her job, teasing out a response from Haru without being too pushy about it, while still keeping in-character. He hoped Haru had taken the time Rin was talking to formulate his own response.

Haru’s eyes swept the studio, and he seemed to steel himself—something Rin had never really seen him do. Haru didn’t usually _care_ about stuff enough to do any worrying, so there was rarely any reason _to_ steel himself. Maybe he was taking this more seriously than Rin gave him credit for. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and then: “I love Rin.”

Someone in the audience released a squeak of tittered laughter, and Rin closed his eyes. _This_ was the best he could do when prompted to express his feelings on national television? Sure, it wasn’t something Rin was thrilled to be doing either, but they had to make the most of this, had to—

“I love Rin,” he repeated, nodding to himself as if in reassurance. “I wouldn’t be here without him. I used to tell myself that I wished I’d never met him—because for a long time…I had more sad memories than happy ones to associate with him. But I think…maybe he could say the same about me, so maybe we’re even.” The audience hung on his words in rapt silence, and Karin-chan smiled indulgently. “Loving Rin has caused me a lot of problems, though. And lots of times over the past week I’ve asked myself if it was worth it. If it’s worth losing our places we worked so hard to earn; if it’s worth losing the chance to make our dreams come true. We could do all of that and not be together, so is it worth it, to sacrifice all that, just to have this person by my side?”

At this point, even Rin felt his throat dry up, swallowing thickly as he waited for Haru to finish what was going to be a very fine performance. So fine, he forgot for a moment that it was just that. It was dangerous, letting himself imagine for even a heartbeat that these beautiful words dropping from Haru’s silver tongue were genuine, but _damn_ he put on a convincing show, and Rin kind of liked living dangerously. So he listened, and he listened _good_ —and he wondered if maybe there was another reality out there where Haru meant it all. He hoped there was. It seemed a damn shame to waste such lovely thoughts on a lie.

“And…what conclusion did you come to, Nanase-san?” Koikawa-san prompted, the only sound in the studio the soft whine of the HVAC system pumping cool air over the sweltering soundstage.

Haru’s fingers went to his ring, twisting it nervously before making a fist. “I love Rin. I wouldn’t _have_ any of those other things without him. Maybe he’d have them even without me, but I couldn’t choose a future he gave me over him.” He glanced over at Rin out of the corner of his eye, expression a bit apologetic. “…I could lose swimming and still be happy with Rin. But I couldn’t lose Rin and still be happy with swimming.”

And now Rin _knew_ Haru was full of shit, which was a bit of a relief. Hell, given the choice, Haru would probably have a hard time choosing between _breathing_ and swimming. The lights on their side of the stage fell as the cameras moved back to the hosts, who promised to return with more of their interview after a short commercial break. Rin took the blessed few minutes off camera to cover his mic and lean over to whisper to Haru, “I think that was more words from you than I’ve heard the entire time we’ve known each other. I must admit, Nanase: I’m impressed.” Haru fixed him with a glare, and he grinned as he punched Haru’s shoulder lightly. “Also way to not tell me about Makoto phoning in! I almost had a heart attack…” He splayed his palm over his chest for effect. “Took ten years off my life…”

Haru shrugged. “I thought it would help…”

“Mm,” Rin agreed easily. “I think it did. Can’t have hurt, right?”

One of the staff members was making gestures for everyone to get back on their marks, shooing hair and make-up artists off the stage, and the lights came up again as Koikawa-san and Karin-chan welcomed their viewers back.

“Now, one thing we haven’t really touched on—one we’ve really ignored, to be honest—is the fact that Matsuoka-san and Nanase-san aren’t just two athletes competing while married, but they’re two _male_ athletes. Which, as I understand it, is the crux of the issue?” Koikawa-san looked to Rin for guidance, and Rin nodded.

“We have teammates who are dating or married, so I’m pretty sure it’s less a problem _that_ we’re married than _who_ we married.”

Koikawa-san continued. “And—you’d been keeping your relationship private for similar reasons, I assume?”

“Indeed; we didn’t want to be a spectacle.” He elbowed Haru gently. “Haru hates the spotlight, after all; our relationship doesn’t have anything to do with our swimming—” He paused, frowning. “Wait, no, I guess I’d rephrase that as ‘our relationship only makes our swimming better’. Unfortunately…” He shrugged. “We don’t exactly fit the image of the usual representatives of Japan, I suppose. And it seems many of our sponsors would rather we be removed from the team simply for loving who we love rather than based on our skills as athletes.”

“And _boy_ do you have skills!” Karin-chan beamed, gesturing to a screen, where Rin’s and Haru’s accomplishments since making the national team a year and a half prior appeared to a quirky musical track as a narrator regaled the audience with their accolades. The audience let out a soft _ooh!_ with some scattered applause, and Karin-chan continued, “It seems silly to remove you from your rightfully earned place when you’ve done amazing work both domestically and abroad just because of a little thing like a kiss!”

Rin forced a chagrined smile. “I mean, for the most part, I think the Board wouldn’t mind so much…except a lot of the financial support required to put on tournaments and send the team overseas for competitions comes from our sponsors. And those sponsors are well within their rights to demonstrate their displeasure with…people like me and Haru being on the team…through their bank accounts. I don’t agree with it—but that’s the way the world works, unfortunately.”

“So then,” Koikawa-san cut in, “Would you say you see yourselves as role models for gay and lesbian youth? I’m sure there are a fair few youngsters—and not-so-youngsters—out there cheering you on, hoping that perhaps your story will pave the way for their own accomplishments to not be overshadowed by the people they choose to love. Is that something you’re hoping they can take away from this incident?”

Rin balked, mind going blank as a wave of discomfort washed over him, unsettling. That was a lot of responsibility—and for a load of shit. They weren’t fighting for anything righteous; they just wanted to cover up their misguided make-out session and try to keep their jobs. Rin cared about swimming, not social justice; about relays, not revolutions. Sure, it might be a nice cause to stand for if they were _actually_ a devoted married couple being unfairly discriminated against, but…they weren’t. They weren’t some hallmark or beacon to rally around. What if they wound up giving kids false hope? What if this all fell apart?

“If people want to see something to aspire to in us, then that’s fine.” It was Haru who responded, even and slow and eyes down. “But we’re just two people, trying to have a relationship together and build our lives alongside one another. We’re nothing special—and we’re on display now not because we want to be inspirational, but because we have to be.” He glanced over at the hosts before hastily adding, “…No offense meant.”

“Aww, none taken, Nanase-san!” Karin-chan offered with a lop-sided smile.

Rin felt something tighten his chest—a lump, heavy like guilt. Maybe it was pity; pity, because here again it didn’t feel like Haru was really playing up his sad, sappy story for the camera. This time, it felt real because Rin knew it _was_ —Haru loved his privacy, loved being left to his own devices. He hated ripples, hated waves, because that meant something was disturbing the pristine calm that was the pool of his life. Here Rin was, turning Haru’s life upside down once more and dragging him from his comfortable routine into an up-and-down melee that might not work out for them in the end despite their best efforts.

And yet Haru was still sitting beside him, ring on his finger, roping his best friend into lying through his teeth for them while spinning fantastic tales of his own. He could’ve just said _screw it_ and decided that swimming on the national team was more trouble than it was worth, abandoning Rin to the sharks that made up the Board. But he hadn’t; he’d gone along with Rin’s hare-brained plan and offered suggestions of his own. Haru wanted to swim with Rin so much he had agreed to something as ridiculous as professing to the world that they were married.

Maybe he _did_ like Rin more than swimming, he mused to himself, and looped their pinkies together with a little squeeze, forgetting for a moment that such displays were meant to be entirely for show.

* * *

“…You ever think about doing it for real?” Rin called into the darkness, staring up at Haru’s popcorn ceiling cast in the soft blue of not-quite-black that came with metropolitan nighttime.

There came the gentle creak of bedsprings as Haru shifted onto his side to regard Rin, who was stretched out on the same ratty guest futon Haru had made him sleep on for as long as Rin could remember. They had politely turned down the offer of lunch with Koikawa-san and Karin-chan after their stint on their show, opting instead to swim out their nerves at Haru’s local community pool. Rin had turned his phone back on long enough to realize he should have left it off when the thing practically vibrated out of his hands with notifications of incoming texts and e-mails and missed phone calls. He wondered if Haru was fielding the same, or if he just left his phone off until he needed it. Sometimes it paid to be a technophobe.

“Doing what?”

Rin crossed his arms behind his head, wishing Haru had a skylight or at least a decent balcony for lounging. “Getting married.”

“To you?” Rin could hear the frown in his voice and wasn’t sure if he ought to be offended or not.

“No, not to _me_. I mean in general.”

“…I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Well _duh_. But lots of chicks plan their ideal wedding well before they even start looking for a husband. I mean the _idea_ of marriage. Settling down, getting a wife—maybe popping out a few kids and doing the whole domestic thing.” But then he frowned to himself—maybe it was insensitive to ask that kind of thing. Maybe Haru didn’t swing that way; Rin didn’t want to presume that just because they enjoyed getting off together it meant anything about who they might fall in _love_ with, but Haru kept to himself about most everything. Maybe he was into guys in general—and that was none of Rin’s business. To ease the pressure on Haru to respond, Rin continued, “I don’t think I can really see myself with a wife.”

Haru’s brows lifted, Rin would swear, _audibly_. “No?”

He scrambled to correct any misconceptions before they spun wildly out of control. “I mean—no, just, I want to focus on swimming right now, on getting my career—or what’s left of it—off the ground. I don’t have time to dedicate to wooing someone or making them feel like they mean the world to me when I’m still chasing my dream.” He let his head loll to the side, trying to make out the outline of Haru’s features in the low light. “A spouse deserves all your attention and love, I feel like. Everything you do, you ought to do because of them. It wouldn’t feel fair to me, not being able to give that person everything I have. I worry they…wouldn’t understand. They’d feel like second in my life, and they wouldn’t deserve someone who made them feel that way.”

This thing he and Haru had between them—it was good. It wasn’t messy, they both knew where they stood, and there were no feelings to get in the way of a good release. If they couldn’t make a hook-up, then they couldn’t make a hook-up, and both of them understood that the other had a grueling schedule that would work to their mutual benefit eventually, even if it meant some dry stretches in the here and now. But someone you were _really_ committed to? _They_ deserved your dedication; your marriage deserved your hard work. Being in a committed relationship meant exactly that: _commitment_.

He smiled to himself, reasoning that maybe this marriage of his and Haru’s wasn’t as fake as they made it out to be, considering how much effort they were both putting into making it ‘real’. He reached out with a toe to poke Haru’s mattress. “What about you?”

Haru rolled back over, settling in again. “…Same.”

Rin lifted onto his elbows, frowning. “What kind of answer is that? You can’t just steal my reasoning.”

“I can if it’s the same.” Haru shrugged, bare shoulders shifting. “I’d want to give them my everything…”

Rin flopped back down, snorting softly. “To think I’d live to see the day when _Nanase Haruka_ found something worth effort. First professional swimming, and now a wife?” He sniffled dramatically, wiping away imaginary tears. “My boy’s all grown up!”

Haru just mumbled a petulant _Shut up_ by way of ‘good night’, and Rin drifted off with a teasing smirk still firming his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

It was, of course, pouring when they stepped off the bus—it’d been overcast when they’d flown out of Tokyo that morning, and the clouds had grown particularly ominous by the time they touched down in Tottori, so now, finally back in the Iwatobi city limits, the skies had decided to open up.

Rin hadn’t expected Haru to want to come along when he’d brought up taking the next weekend to visit home. Gou had finally managed to guilt him into purchasing a ticket, warning him that she was _not_ going to be the one to have to explain to their mother that Rin was no longer single, and Rin had to admit she had a point—he was being a coward. If he wasn’t dodging calls and texts from Coach Miura—which even he could see was counterproductive; how were they to learn if their ploy had worked if they never answered their phones?—then he was going over in his mind the long, _long_ list of people he’d have to explain himself to eventually. And it wasn’t getting any shorter—so he’d had to start prioritizing them.

Which brought him to Iwatobi—that Haru had tagged along had been unplanned, but Rin wouldn’t say it was particularly unwanted. The guy didn’t seem to want to play Rin’s shadow, instead confessing that he’d been looking for an excuse to visit his grandmother’s gravesite for the first time in nearly a year. Rin recalled distantly that Haru’s family had moved from Tottori elsewhere shortly after graduation—overseas, he thought; something to do with Haru’s father’s business—so he supposed Haru seldom found much reason to travel back and pay his respects, especially given he still kept a convenient little shrine in his apartment. Rin was never one to barge in on someone else’s private moments with a passed loved one, though, so they parted ways at the bus stop with promises to meet at the same place two mornings hence. Rin had wondered how they might work out sleeping arrangements without it being too awkward—how to tell your mother you were screwing your rival before immediately asking her if said rival could sleep under her roof?—before Haru had smoothly explained that he’d already been offered quarters by a very perplexed but gracious Tachibana family. 

It was another short train ride to his mother’s place, and staring out the window as the gray landscape slid by, Rin was relieved to see the town was still as sleepy and quiet as ever. He didn’t want to presume he was anywhere near famous enough to bring down a plague of nosy reporters on Iwatobi or his family’s home, but he imagined he and Haru were a bit of a curiosity, and those looking for an angle might dig into their past, perhaps hoping to interview some old classmates. Just one more thing he’d have to apologize for when he spilled his guts to his mother.

Because that was what he was going to do—be frank with her, be honest about everything. He’d been lying to everyone lately, it felt—even Haru, in some ways, and he didn’t even want to _start_ thinking about that—so if she would have him, he’d unload everything onto her, if only to be able to hear it out loud. She might judge—and she’d be right to—but she’d still love him, of this he was pretty sure.

The ticket gates had been updated since he’d last passed through, the outdated ticket punchers now supplemented with swipe-throughs. It felt a little sad, seeing the march of progress sweeping through Iwatobi, and he shoved his ticket into the machine with a spiteful thrust. 

“Oniichan?!”

He straightened immediately, freezing in place—for there, sheltering under an awning near the taxi rotary, stood Gou. An umbrella hung from one arm, dripping dark splotches on the concrete.

“Gou—what’re you doing here?”

“What am _I_ doing here? I live a heck of a lot closer to Mom than you! I just didn’t expect you back _right_ away…” She marched over, very unsubtly peeking around for any fellow travelers. “Where’s Haruka-sempai?”

He frowned. “Why would Haru be here?”

She crossed her arms, frowning just as fiercely at him. “I dunno. Because apparently he’s your _husband_?” Her eye caught on his left hand, and she snatched it up, gawking at the gold band adorning it with her mouth hanging open. “Oh my _god_ , you really _are_ married!”

He jerked his hand back, cradling it against his chest, and shushed her sharply. “You gotta let the entire _prefecture_ know?”

“The entire prefecture _already_ knows—you’re on pretty much constant repeat on the variety shows now.”

He wiped a hand over his face. “Shit—of course.”

Gou peered at him intently, as if trying to suss out the gory details through mental machinations. “…I know you said I’d hear things…but I just thought it’d be people saying bad things about you. Not…”

He narrowed his eyes. “… _Have_ people been saying bad things about me?” He knew there would be—hell, half the reason he kept his phone turned off these days was so that he wouldn’t have to deal with old acquaintances messaging him out of the blue with links to Twitter tirades and salacious news articles.

Gou just shrugged. “I don’t pay it much attention.” She glanced around again for good measure. “You really didn’t bring him with you? Mom’ll want to meet him.”

He scratched at the back of his neck in nervous habit. “He’s…staying with the Tachibanas. Visiting his grandmother’s grave and all. And Mom’s already met him like five times before. She knows who Haru is.”

“Mmm, maybe she knows who Nanase Haruka, my sempai and your friend, is—but she doesn’t know who the guy you got caught kissing and— _oh my god I still can’t believe it_ —MARRIED is.”

He scoffed. “We aren’t—I mean…” He hadn’t even left the station proper yet, and he was already getting a headache. “I told you. It’s _complicated_.” He tugged on her ponytail, drawing an offended squawk from her. “Don’t believe everything you see on TV.”

“TV? You’re one of the top trending topics on Twitter in Japan!” She reached out to tug on his jacket. “C’mon—I”m supposed to be getting some dinner rolls from the bakery. You can tell me all about these supposed ‘complications’ on the way home.”

With a sigh, he fell into place beside her, taking up the umbrella to hold for the both of them, and decided she’d be good practice for his mother.

* * *

He hadn’t lived in this house for longer than perhaps a month or so since he was very small, yet it seemed as if nothing had changed. His mother was older, her face starting to crease with age, and Gou was twice the size they had marked her at on the doorjamb leading into the living room, but other than that, things were much the same. Even the furniture was still arranged in the same fashion, and while the television had recently been upgraded from an old cathode-ray device to a sleek flatscreen that had cost Rin a fair amount and had his mother chiding him for splurging on her when she barely used it, the home still held more than its fair share of memories.

“Mom! Look who I found at the station!”

A soft _Hmm?_ came from the kitchen, and Rin toed off his shoes and padded down the hallway to lean against the jamb. “…Hey Mom.”

She dropped the potato peeler she’d been using with a clatter, hands going to her mouth—but she said nothing, as if robbed of words by Rin’s appearance. He stood there, awkward and unsure of what to say, and Gou elbowed past him into the kitchen, taking up the potato peeler after setting down the bag of dinner rolls. “I’ll finish putting these on to boil—why don’t you two go talk in the den?”

It wasn’t quite the welcome he’d expected—or even hoped for—but at least his mother only looked a bit shocked to see him and not disgusted or disappointed. He wondered if Gou had talked things over with her—she had to have, right? It’s not like the topic would never have come up. Gou had reminded him that their mother would be happy for him, he recalled, but then neither of them knew the entire truth of the matter yet. Would she still be quite so understanding once he opened up to her about what the ring on his finger _really_ symbolized? 

Gou gave him a hopeful look, brows raised, and nodded toward the door. He waited for his mother to pass, then followed her out and down the hall back toward the genkan, where a door off to the right led into the den. She settled into her favorite chair, and Rin took the end of the low sofa nearest to her, feeling like a guest in his own house. If Gou brought them tea, as if he were a neighbor on a house call, he thought he might scream. 

He knew he ought to start the conversation, but he suddenly couldn’t think of how to do so. He’d gone over this moment a dozen times in his head on the flight here, thought he’d prepared for every possibly way things could unfold, but now he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. _Sorry I haven’t been able to make it back for a while—been embroiled in a sex scandal_? _Hey look! We’ve got matching jewelry now! Except mine’s fake, haha_?

Such thoughts had him twisting his ring in the absent habit he’d developed, though, and he was suddenly saved from groping about for a way to break the silence. “…So it’s true?”

He looked up, the room drawing back into focus. He’d let his thoughts wander and wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard her right. “I—true?”

She nodded to the ring with a sad sigh, smiling but with a tight, wry curve to her lips. “You really did marry Nanase-kun?”

He glanced down at the ring, as if seeing it for the first time, and suddenly didn’t want it anywhere near him. He tugged it off with a yank, apologizing in a mumbled flood of words, and stuffed it into his pocket. How much of a dick would he seem, treating this charade like it was anywhere near as meaningful as the relationship she’d had with Rin and Gou’s father? It was an insult. “Sorry—I…forgot I was wearing it, and—”

She reached over quickly, though, stretching to span the distance between her seat and Rin’s edge of the couch, and braced a hand on his wrist. “Don’t—you don’t have to take it off. I would never…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s lovely. I wish I’d been there to see him put it on you.”

Rin’s chest tightened, and he felt heat rise behind his eyes, a building pressure that he well recognized. He hated how easily he cried; it was so hard to win arguments through snotty tears or let someone know what they meant to you when your voice hitched on every other word with hiccups. He clenched his eyes shut, but this only made the banked tears start to pool at the corners, so he got out what he could before he broke down entirely: “It’s not real!”

There was a long beat of silence, which he was grateful for, as it allowed him to snatch back some of the composure he’d felt slipping through his fingers like so much silty sand, but then she simply returned softly. “…If you say it’s real, then it’s real. I don’t care what anyone else says.”

God, she wasn’t going to make this easy, was she? With her _understanding_ and _unconditional love_. He looked up, blinking rapidly until the exposed beams of the ceiling fell back into focus. “I don’t…I don’t mean it’s not legal. Well—yeah, it’s not. But I meant…” He took a breath, forcing himself to look at her, because he wasn’t allowed to be a coward. He’d been a coward for almost two weeks now—it was time to fess up. “…We lied. We aren’t married. We…we aren’t even _dating_. It’s…” He lost his breath, voice hitching. “It’s fake. We made it up.”

Her face fell, brows cinching in confusion, and she glanced down at the fist he’d made, clenching his ring within. “I…I don’t understand. I—Gou showed me a clip, there was a TV show you did an interview on. And—the magazine?”

He just shook his head. “Someone—some reporter snuck into a restricted area. Caught us…kissing. It became a _thing_ , we were gonna get kicked off the team because the sponsors don’t like that kind of—” He took another deep breath because his words were coming too fast, manic and frantic. “They were going to drop us because—and we didn’t want that, so we decided to…to pretend.” He ducked his head. “We thought maybe if people thought we were…something special, and not just a couple of guys blowing off steam…then maybe they’d get behind us. Protest them kicking us off.” He could feel his throat tightening, and his voice started taking on a soft whine. He rubbed the heel of his palms into his eyes, elbows resting on his knees as he hunched forward. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far—we just…it means so much to us, being on the team, and we were only having some fun, and it was gonna cost us our _careers_.” Spelling it out like this, Rin was growing keenly aware of what a load of shit they’d gotten themselves into. “…I’m sorry. I’m really—really sorry,” he finished pathetically.

He never wanted to disappoint her. She’d seemed almost happy for him—saying she’d wanted to see Haru put the ring on him—just like Gou had assured him she would be. How had he fucked things up so badly? Why hadn’t they just rolled the dice and waited for the Board to make their decision? Even if they could fool everyone, even if they managed to pretty much blackmail the disciplinary committee into allowing them to keep their positions, how would they be able to face everyone knowing none of it was real? That everyone thought they were this perfect, lovey-dovey couple refusing to buckle under the strain of a restrictive culture denying them basic rights—when in fact they were just trying to save their spots on the Japanese National Swim Team? What kind of sick, _twisted_ , selfish—

“…I wasn’t really surprised, you know.”

Rin looked up, certain his eyes were already puffy and bloodshot when the real waterworks hadn’t even started yet. “You—huh?”

She settled back into her chair, staring off into space with a weak smile on her lips. “When Gou told me—when she showed me the newspaper clipping and mentioned she’d spoken with you. I was shocked—but not really surprised. If that makes any sense.”

And it kind of did, strangely. He frowned. “…Why not?”

She glanced to the side, looking at him, and her smile curved up a bit more at the edges, genuine mirth seeping through. “Honestly. If you were trying to be subtle all those years…”

He felt a flash of offense spear through him, though he was quite certain he was in no position to be feeling anything more than penitence just now. “I—subtle about what?”

She sighed, neglecting to answer, and changed topics. “What were you doing in the newspaper clipping?”

He looked away, picking at a thread coming loose from one of the couch cushions. “…I told you. It was—just a kiss.”

“But you said you weren’t dating Nanase-kun.” Her voice went a bit _motherly_ , daring him to backtalk her. “I’m not stupid, you know—I know what kinds of things kids get up to these days.”

“I’m not a _kid_ ,” he protested, well aware he sounded exactly like one when he took that tone. “I—it’s not important. We did something stupid. We got caught. We…we were just trying to get out of it with our careers intact.” He then added petulantly, “…And this whole thing was Haru’s idea. I just went along with it.” It was a lie, but only a small one, and Haru wasn’t here to defend himself.

“And I’m sure he had to drag you there kicking and screaming.”

Rin blinked in confusion—what was she trying to get at? “It was our only choice—it was either that or hope that the disciplinary committee would side with us even though we apparently broke some stupid rules in our contracts about ‘indecent behavior’.” He made a face. “We probably would’ve gotten off lighter if we’d been caught with beers in our hands instead of each other’s—” He bit his tongue, taking a sharp breath. “…Just, I didn’t want to lie to you. I’ve been lying to everyone lately, and…and I wanted you to know the truth.”

“And what is the truth?”

“Wh—I just told you!” He fished the ring out of his pocket, waving it in front of her. “It’s not even real gold.” He tossed it on the table, where it hit with a light _clack_ and spun on its band for a few revolutions before settling down. “Pretty perfect for us, I thought.”

And then his mother had the nerve to _scoff_. “Dramatic as ever—I’ve yet to figure out _where_ you got that from. It certainly wasn’t me or your father.” She cocked her head in thought. “Maybe Kyou-san?”

He felt his face heat. “I’m not being _drama_ —”

“You’re lying to people—I understand that. I just don’t think you’re lying to the parties you _think_ you’re lying to.” He felt his lip curl in confusion, convinced now she was carrying on a completely different conversation than Rin was. She stood, brushing down her skirt. “I need to finish the potato salad. We’ll have _sukiyaki_ —your favorite.” She made a gesture, shooing him away. “Now go on, off you go.”

“Off—? I just got here.”

“Yes, and you ought to go speak to your father before dinner.” She picked up his ring from the table, taking his hand by the wrist and dropping it into his palm. “The rain’s let up.”

Reflexively, he let his fingers curl around the ring, clutching it in his fist. He wavered between relief at having finally confessed the truth of the matter to his mother—and confusion as to what she was implying. He blankly went through the motions of slipping back into his sneakers, still not quite sure if she’d been angry or hurt or what. She hadn’t yelled—but then, she’d never been one for strong displays of emotion. She was right to wonder where Rin got his tendency toward emotional outbursts from. He didn’t think she’d been entirely happy with him either, though, but he’d pretty much expected that. 

He grabbed a fold-up umbrella from the entryway, just in case the heavens opened up again, and wheeled his mother’s bike out from under the awning beside the house, easily mounting the low-set seat. 

He’d told her the truth—what more did she want from him? He wasn’t a child she could grill Socratically and expect all of his deepest, darkest secrets to come spilling out—because there was refusing to lie, and there was neglecting to tell the whole truth. He’d told her the _relevant_ truths—just like he’d vowed he would.

He certainly wasn’t going to sit there on his mother’s sofa and tell her he was in _love_ with Haru. She’d want to fix it, then.

She’d tell him he ought to go for it, that he deserved ~true love~ and it would never come if he sat back and let it slip by. She’d wallow on about how Haru probably loved him back because who wouldn’t love Rin? And then she’d deal the death blow and say that if he didn’t love Rin back, then he didn’t deserve Rin.

As if what Haru felt for him could ever remotely influence how _Rin_ felt about _him_. How he’d felt about Haru since he was 12, really, and had only of late come to realize it had a name—the same name he’d always associated with rosy futures and quiet intimacy and sitting on the back porch together listening to the fountain in their garden at 70, 80, 90. It was darker, it was harder—it was sadder—but it was still the same, he still felt that clenching of his chest and the relief when they touched, and it wouldn’t go away, he didn’t think, no matter how hard he wished it to. It was like having his heart broken in reverse, and sleeping with Haru at least scratched that physical itch and helped him forget about the throbbing emotional scars each encounter left behind.

No, he sure as _hell_ wasn’t going to tell his mom about that.

“…But I guess I could tell you, Dad.” He settled down into a squat before the marker, laying one hand atop it and imagining it was a sturdy shoulder. He’d hugged it once, at 13, because he’d been trying _so_ hard to be strong for everyone else and just needed to be a broken, confused child before someone without fearing he was going to hurt or worry them. It had been cold, and the rasp of the stone grit against his skin had been anything but comforting, but he’d felt better after he’d done it all the same. 

His ring was cold against his finger, seeping his warmth, just like the marker. He gave a wincing smile. “Ah—yeah, about that… Guess you haven’t tuned into _Sports Weekly_ , have you?” He smiled in spite of himself. “I…kinda got myself into a mess. Which yeah—I know, _shocking_ , right? Me, screwing up my life.” The marker seemed indifferent to his self-flagellation, though, and Rin suddenly felt silly. He took a breath, reminding himself that even if his father wouldn’t have approved of anything Rin was doing, at least he wouldn’t have to _see_ that disapproval settle across a sturdy brow or worm its way into the thin lines of pursed lips.

“…I’ve been telling everyone that Haru and I—ah, you remember Haru, right? I mean, I know you never met him, but I must’ve talked your ear off about him over the years.” A breeze ruffled his hair, so he decided that would do for a response. “Anyway, I’ve…been telling people that he and I…are married.” He wiggled his fingers. “And I know you’re probably just _brimming_ with questions, but honestly I’ve told the story once already today, and I really don’t want to get into it again.” He leaned back until he fell into a seated position, legs crossed. The wet grass soaked through his jeans, but he didn’t care. “The thing is…I’m—” He bit his tongue; he couldn’t do it. “I’m scared.” There, at least that was still the truth. “I like Haru.” Also the truth. “I mean—I _like_ him. I really…really like him. Way more than he likes me—or I dunno, at least in a different way than he likes me.” He drew his knees up to his chest, staring ahead blankly. “…And I think I’ve screwed everything up now.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this—it was never supposed to be a _chore_ , their being together. Because once it became not worth it, once it became too much trouble— _too annoying_ —Haru would leave. He’d drop professional swimming; he’d drop _Rin_ , because this was just a pleasant diversion for him. Rin was pretty sure Haru enjoyed himself when they fucked—at least his dick seemed really into it—and even though he never really _said_ as much, he’d learned over the years to read Haru. Not as well as Makoto, mind you, but he could see things he knew would’ve been beyond him when they were younger; knew how to tell when he was horny by the jut of his chin and the sharp squint of his eyes, knew how to tell when he wanted something slower and lazier when he braced one hand against Rin’s chest when they kissed with the other at his neck, so he could stay in control. Haru had _preferences_ , which meant he cared about what they did and how they did it, and Rin wanted to do everything in his power to give Haru what he wanted. Because the moment it started being more work and less play…that’d be it.

If they got dropped after all this, they’d be finished—career-wise and relationship-wise. Rin was going to lose _everything_ , and even if he managed to keep his career, this farce of a ‘marriage’ he had with Haru would just become a yoke around their necks that forced them into roles they might one day have evolved into naturally but would never enjoy now. 

“…I just want things to go back to the way they were. All I ever wanted was Haru and swimming, and now I don’t think I’ll get to keep either of them.” He could feel heat building behind his eyes and cursed his quick emotions. He was never going to be able to have a proper conversation about this with anyone at this rate. “Why does it have to be so hard?” He’d always thought if you wanted something bad enough—and you worked hard enough for it, you could have it. It was the whole reason he drove himself as hard as he did: because anything less wouldn’t be _enough_ to make his dreams come true. He trained until his limbs felt like noodles, he fucked Haru every way and any way he wanted, he gave 150% to everything he did because that was the only way to guarantee he’d make it where he wanted to be.

But maybe it’d been a fool’s errand to begin with. Haru didn’t share his dream, after all—not the same way. And while he shared Rin’s bed now and then, it wasn’t with the same persistence, desperation, or dedication Rin gave. They’d always been like that—both looking at the same goal, but going about it with entirely different mindsets.

He shut his eyes, blinking hard until he felt the tears come, then hastily wiped them away and sniffed. He’d come here to talk to his father—not throw himself a pity party. He eased back onto his feet, brushing himself off, and shoved his hands into his pocket as he stared down at the marker. “…Sorry. It’s not like there’s anything you can do. I got myself into this mess, so I’ll just have to accept whatever comes.” He forced a smile, but it was thin and wan with no life to it. “Maybe don’t tell Mom what I told you, though? I mean, she knows most of it, but she doesn’t…I couldn’t tell her. That I…”

“Rin.”

Rin’s head snapped up, spine straight and attention fixed at the foot of the little hill leading up to the outcropping where his father’s marker stood. “H—Haru?” He could hear the emotion in his voice, and he coughed, rubbing at his eyes again. He didn’t need Haru grilling him as to why he’d been crying. With any luck, he’d just chalk it up to emotion over a parent long lost. “What are you doing here?”

Haru glanced around, frowning—like he didn’t quite know himself. “…Your mother said you were here.”

Stepping carefully, lest he slip on some wet grass or loose scree, Rin joined Haru at the foot of the hill, offering only a silent farewell to his father’s marker. “Okay—but why were you talking to her?”

“Because you weren’t answering your phone.”

Rin palmed his phone in his pocket. “I haven’t been answering it for a week now, though…” He cocked his head, trying to get Haru to look him in the eye—no dice. He changed the subject, since Haru didn’t seem to want to talk about it. “…How’re the Tachibanas?”

Haru shrugged. “Fine. It’s only been a couple of months since I last saw them.”

“Ah yeah—they came to Tokyo to visit Makoto for Golden Week, right?” Rin had taken advantage of the long holiday to visit Russell and Lori down in Sydney and had missed the reunion, but Makoto had been happy to share more pictures of their trip to Disney Sea than Rin had really cared to see. Though it had admittedly been fun to see the shots of the twins and Makoto trying to keep Haru from diving Mickey-ears-first into Mediterranean Harbor.

Haru nodded, and an awkward, tense silence stretched between them—Haru not offering why he’d come trailing after Rin, and Rin lacking the courage to press further. Haru glanced up the hill, gaze fixing on the marker. “…You were talking to your father?”

“Huh? Oh—yeah. Hadn’t seen him since New Year’s, so my mom gave me grief, sent me out here.” He watched Haru closely, trying to gauge his thoughts and failing. “I know it maybe seems silly—after almost twenty years, you’d think I could settle for the shrine in the den, but—” But Haru was already stepping past him, taking the slope with less grace and care than Rin had and nearly faceplanting as one sneaker lost its grip. Rin reached for him to steady him, but he was already back on his feet and climbing. “Oi—Haru? What are you…”

Haru stopped before the marker, facing it with an unreadable expression. The skies were mottled with dying storm clouds, shot through with gold fiber as the sunset strained to break through. Haru clasped his hands before himself, then tipped forward into an angled bow that he held for several long seconds before straightening again with a sharp nod.

He descended with the same firm step—but more grace this time; no slip-ups—and continued past Rin around the bend where Rin had parked his mother’s bicycle. Rin blinked, confused, then broke into a jog to catch up. “What the hell was that all about?”

“It’s not silly.”

“What’s not—? Oh.” Rin scratched his neck, suddenly feeling uncomfortable; it was weird when Haru tried to cheer him up. He hated seeming weak before Haru, yet he still seemed to show that side of himself a hell of a lot. He shoved his hands in his pockets, nudging the bicycle kickstand with the toe of his sneaker. “So, uh—what’re you doing for dinner tonight? Are the Tachibanas cooking you a feast or…?” He left the invitation unspoken. They’d agreed to do their own thing while here—they weren’t even supposed to _see_ each other again until Monday. But if Haru had already dropped in on Rin’s mother, at least it would save him the awkward business of asking her permission to invite him over for dinner, as if they were an actual couple. Plus Gou might like to chat with her sempai, he reasoned.

“They’re making miso-marinated grilled mackerel. With pineapple salsa.” Haru smiled softly at this, eyes cast downward in that cute little awed expression he always donned at the prospect of a meal of mackerel in his near future.

“Are they now?” Rin forced a grin, shaking his head as he busied himself with fumbling the keys to the bike lock from his pocket. “Well don’t I feel loved, knowing that you came all the way out here to track me down when there’s mackerel waiting for you.” Sukiyaki sure as hell couldn’t compare with Haru’s beloved mackerel—so he didn’t even offer. He kicked away the stand, throwing one leg over the seat. “I’ll see you at the bus stop Monday morning—8:30 sharp, don’t be late.” Haru opened his mouth, likely to protest Rin’s reminder, then wisely shut it again, only nodding. “Enjoy your mackerel, Nanase.” And with a wave, Rin left him behind, pedaling hard until he’d disappeared around a curve.

* * *

“Rin! Can you get that?” came his mother’s voice from the kitchen as he toed off his sneakers in the entryway. He frowned down at the phone, trilling its announcement of an incoming call from where it sat atop a small table next to the shoe boxes. “I’m up to my elbows in cabbage heads.”

Where was Gou? Her shoes were gone from the entryway, now that he glanced around. “Yeah yeah, I got it.” He lifted the receiver and brought it to his ear. “Matsuoka residence.”

_”Well well, I was beginning to think I’d never hear your dulcet tones again, Matsuoka.”_

Rin’s breath caught in his chest, heart doing a thudding double beat that physically _hurt_. “…Coach Miura…”

_”Ah, so you_ do _remember me! I’m relieved to see that your newfound celebrity status hasn’t caused you to forget us little guys you stepped on on your way to the top.”_

His sarcasm had a slicing, bitter tone, and Rin knew he’d fucked up but _good_. “I…no, I mean—I’ve been…busy…”

_”So I’ve seen. I’m surprised you had time to travel between interviews and television spots and whatnot. I thought maybe the reason I hadn’t been able to get in touch with you for nearly_ two weeks _now was because I needed to go through your agent.”_

Rin leaned against the wall, feeling a headache building behind his eyes as guilt clutched with icy fingers at his heart. He wasn’t ready for this conversation, didn’t think he ever _would_ be, and he silently wished, as he worried his lip, that Haru were here. Haru was always cool and calm, even when he had no right to be, and Rin selfishly fed on that even keel. If Haru were here, he’d take the phone from Rin’s hand and do the difficult task of apologizing and explaining and listening to what Miura had to say. But he wasn’t here—because Rin was a damn coward and let him go, wouldn’t even _try_ to convince him to stay. In more ways than one.

He took a ragged breath. Nothing for it except to rip it off, like a bandage. “…So?”

_”The hell kind of tone is that to take with me?”_

Rin was kind of beyond caring, but tradition forced him to at least pretend at manners. “…Sorry, just…I’m under a lot of stress at the moment trying to do whatever I can to save my ass. Hopefully you can understand.”

_”All I see is you running away with your tail between your legs instead of taking your punishment like a man, making things as difficult for the people around you as you can along the way.”_ Miura snorted derisively. _”Trying to take the rest of us down with you, huh?”_

Rin felt anger flare in his chest—how fucking _dare_ he make light of something that would affect them for the rest of their lives? Like they deserved _any_ of this. “You know damn well we’re—”

_”No, what I know is that you screwed up and instead of playing by the very rules you broke, you thought you’d try and make up your own. Do you have any idea the shitstorm we’ve been battling since your stint on_ Sports Weekly _? Of course not—because you’re only worried about yourselves. God I wish I could fire you over the fucking phone.”_

Rin’s heart lurched—he didn’t know if he should be relieved Miura hadn’t called to drop them then and there…or terrified of the implication that the method of contact was the only thing sparing him from formally being stripped of his place on the team. He brought his hand to his temple, brushing back a few stray strands with trembling fingers. “We…we really didn’t mean… Just—you _know_ how much we want this. We’re doing everything we can—the _only_ thing we can…”

It sounded like bullshit even to Rin, and the begging whine in his voice reminded him of that childish mantra _It’s not fair!_ Still as true now as it had been in his youth. Sometimes hard work didn’t count for anything—you just had to deal with the hand you were dealt, and whether it was guys twice your size demolishing your times in the pool or a scandalous photo meant to sell a few hundred more copies of the latest issue of a dying sports rag, it didn’t matter. Hard work wasn’t always the answer, no—sometimes you just had to fucking marry your rival.

Miura, though, clearly didn’t agree that the tactic had been merited. There was a long beat of silence, and Rin wondered if he was debating on breaking with protocol and commencing with the firing regardless of legality, but then: _”First thing Monday morning—you and your better half had better be in my office with your posterchild asses in front of my desk.”_ He then bit out in a threat that was anything but veiled, _”Or don’t even bother coming back.”_


	6. Chapter 6

Dinner was tasteless, the conversation monosyllabic and stilted. Gou had returned just as their mother and Rin had finished setting the table, and when he’d failed to explain his dour countenance, she’d blessedly changed the topic to the friend she’d apparently been out visiting who was engaged to be married. “Y’see, Oniichan—some people like to tell their friends and family _before_ they get married. Just a thought.” Had his stomach not been tying itself in knots with worry and terror, he might have summoned a witty retort, but as it was, he excused himself after only a few bites and turned in early. He texted Haru the details of the short conversation, not daring to call him lest Haru hear the anxious twang in his voice and be reminded that Matsuoka Rin was and always would be a scared little twelve-year-old in an adult’s body. Still as enamored with Haru as he’d been the moment they met, still trying to make his father proud. Still failing on all counts. 

Haru had texted back a picture of the twins wearing pineapple rings on their fingers with the caption _/They wanted rings too…/_ and then a simple “OK” regarding the Miura incident. Rin snorted softly, setting the image as his wallpaper, and then snapped his phone shut and fallen into a dreamless, fitful sleep.

He woke to the tinkling of his phone’s alarm, feeling utterly exhausted. Gou’s cringing expression when he met her on the stairs suggested he looked even worse than he felt, so he grabbed a quick shower, hoping to be rejuvenated. It didn’t do too much good, but at least he no longer looked half as bad as he felt, and after a quick apology to his mother for his abrupt departure coupled with promises to come back for Silver Week for a longer visit—(”I’ll expect to see Nanase-kun next time too, understood?”)—he broke into a jog, headed for the bus stop to meet Haru.

The trip back seemed to take, somehow, longer than the trip there, and by the time he muttered a gruff _Sorry for the intrusion_ as he clomped into Haru’s apartment, too exhausted by half to make the final two change-overs to reach his own place, he was ready to pitch face-forward onto the guest futon, even though it was barely five in the evening.

He did nap, though, and when he roused, it was well past sunset and Haru was hovering over a steaming pot in the kitchen, dingy blue apron tied over his favorite pair of jammers (or one of the seven suits that looked like his favorite pair). Rin groped for his phone and saw it was nearing eight—early enough that he had plenty of time yet to drag himself back to his own apartment if he was so inclined.

“Here,” Haru called, dipping a spoon into the pot and holding it out. “Taste.”

Rin slowly uncurled from his little pallet, running his fingers through his hair as he toddled on shaky legs into the kitchen. “Why do I need to taste it?”

“You’re going to eat it, aren’t you?”

Rin blinked, then bit back a smile as he leaned in to wrap his lips around the spoon—that was about as close as Haru usually got to inviting him to stay the night, and while the classically romantic side of Rin might have longed for something a bit more mawkish, he would take what he could get, as he always had with Haru. He smacked his lips, feigning consideration of the dish—then actually realized there was a flavor there he hadn’t expected. “You used chicken stock!”

Haru shrugged. “I had mackerel for breakfast.”

As if that had ever stopped him from enjoying it for his three squares a day. Rin ribbed him with a leer. “More of your husband rubbing off on you, huh? Soon I’ll have you craving a nice bloody steak like a proper healthy young man.” He shifted around, leaning back against the counter to watch Haru—then let his gaze travel down to his jammers. “Now if only I could work on your fashion sense…”

“I dress fine.”

“You’re cooking in swimwear; comfortable or not, you’ve gotta admit it’s _weird_.”

Haru fixed him with a look. “…It’s not like I’ll be wearing it very long anyway.”

Rin felt his throat go dry and had to adjust himself, stepping away from the counter and putting his back to Haru so the asshole couldn’t take any pleasure in knowing how little it took to get Rin hard these days. He was feeling a little better after his nap, and it was finally hitting him, despite the sword dangling precariously over their heads, just how long it had been since he and Haru had…well, done the sorts of things married couples were supposed to do. Though, he reflected silently, didn’t they say that marriage sapped the spark from a relationship? Not that they really had a _relationship_ so much as a mutually beneficial arrangement. But they were used to working off lingering tension from practice on each other. A week and more now without either was starting to eat away at nerves already shot from stress.

Plus—and he’d only admit this inside the secret haven of his mind—he _missed_ Haru. 

He was suddenly not hungry at all, nursing instead a different rumbling in his midsection that demanded satiation. 

“Off.”

Haru had drawn up behind him, tugging insistently at the hem of his shirt, and Rin froze in place. “Wha—huh? What’re you—”

“ _Off_ ,” Haru repeated, an edge of irritation in his voice as he nudged Rin back into the bedroom proper.

Rin craned his neck toward the kitchen, where Haru had lidded the pot he’d been tending and turned off the burner—in evident preparation for being distracted for a while. “How’d you do that so fast? I need to tie a bell around your neck…”

“If you like…” Haru muttered, peeling Rin’s shirt up and off and tossing it to the side as they did an awkward dance into the bedroom until Rin’s knees hit the low mattress, sending him toppling backwards. 

Rin propped himself up on his elbows, raising one foot to hold Haru at bay and delivering his own orders with a jerk of his chin. “Apron.”

Haru frowned at the interruption but reached behind himself to untie the apron, dropping it by the wayside and shimmying out of his jammers. Rin rolled over and groped for the pull of the drawer on Haru’s nightstand, rifling through it blindly until his fingers brushed over an open box of condoms and the travel-size tube of lubricant Haru kept there. Any romance—feigned though it had always been—had long since leached from their couplings, each too tired or too horny (or both) to bother with foreplay most occasions. This was probably one of the ‘both’ times, and when Rin evidently wasn’t quick enough in his preparations, Haru had hooked his fingers under the hem of Rin’s pajama bottoms and peeled them off in one quick stroke. “Oi—careful with the goods!”

“You’re taking too long.” He held a hand out, expectant. “Condom.”

Rin frowned. “Why d’you get to stick it in?”

“Do you want to?”

Rin’s frown turned thoughtful. “…That’s not the point. The point is I should have been presented with the _option_ of—hey!” Haru reached forward and snatched the box of condoms from Rin’s grasp, tearing one off and tossing the box back into the open drawer. “Chill, geez.”

Haru just focused on himself, carefully rolling the prophylactic down his shaft with an unreadable expression on his face—and Rin swallowed thickly. Haru wasn’t being an asshole; he was _turned on_ , and he didn’t want to talk about it. Which was pretty normal for Haru, but not wanting to talk while they screwed could mean any number of things—some mundane, some a fair bit more serious. Was this ‘I haven’t touched you or myself in a week and I just need to get on with it’ fucking, or ‘I don’t know what to do with myself and I’m not sure what tomorrow will bring so I just want to do something I can control right now’ fucking?

No wonder he’d nearly torn Rin’s hand off grabbing for the condom. 

The floor fan spilled a breeze across his exposed backside. Modesty was ever lost on Haru, who seemed to only ever find clothing an irritating necessity, but Rin wasn’t quite yet roused enough to be beyond caring how much of himself was on display, and he kept his knees locked closed while he fished for the tube of lubricant, now lost amongst the tangled covers.

Haru knocked them back open, crawling between Rin’s legs as he reached to retrieve the tube himself. “Stop messing around,” he chided gruffly, uncapping the tube and squeezing a dollop into his palm before tossing it to Rin.

“Someone’s in a mood…”

“The roux’s going cold.”

Rin snorted. “You could’ve waited until _after_ dinner to jump me, in that case.”

“No,” Haru countered, brows furrowing as he focused on slicking himself up. “I couldn’t.”

And Rin’s cock found that _just_ fine, perking to attention and sending a throbbing shudder down his spine to draw his balls up tight. Fucking hell, he’d never been able to resist Nanase Haruka when he really _wanted_ something—he’d tried to pretend, even way back when, that _he_ was the one in charge, the one leading Haru by the nose and introducing him to new sights and grand adventures. Haru had even believed it for a time—maybe still believed it now. But it’d never been the truth of the matter: Haru had always had Rin wrapped around his little finger, informing his each and every decision since day one. He’d changed schools for Haru, he’d built that relay team for Haru, he’d come back for Haru. And here he was, probably ruining their lives—for Haru. 

Hey, he’d never pretended that all of those decisions made because of Haru had been for the _best_.

Haru methodically worked to stretch him, almost clinical in his touches tonight, and Rin bit back a wince when he tried a second finger too soon. Haru must have noticed his discomfort, though, for he gentled his ministrations and wrapped the fingers of his free hand around Rin’s shaft, tugging in slow, easy rhythm in time with his stretching. The band on his finger was cool against the flushed skin of Rin’s cock, and he closed his eyes and marveled in the sensation. The trapped heat of Haru’s 1K, the fading burn of Haru’s fingers inside him, the smooth metallic slide of a wedding band he could pretend was real in stolen moments like this. Moments, he realized with an uncomfortable start, he might never have again. 

He frowned, eyes fluttering open as he stared at the ceiling above.

This might be _it_. Maybe that was why Haru was acting so weird—he’d realized what Rin hadn’t: that their ‘relationship’ had a deadline. And it was twelve hours from now. Twelve hours, and this would be a chore; they’d no longer be walking the same road, toward the same goal. There would _be_ no goal, and even if Haru didn’t resent him, he sure as hell wouldn’t feel like fucking the person who took away the only thing he’d ever really put himself out there for. And Rin wouldn’t blame him.

“Rin…?” Haru must have noticed something, some expression flickering across Rin’s features, for he paused with the head of his cock brushing against Rin’s ass but not yet nosing in and shook Rin’s knee gently to grab his attention, thumb brushing over the knob.

Rin swallowed, feeling a thick lump in his throat that would surely make his voice come out funny if he tried to speak, and he shook his head—then snapped his hips to knock Haru off balance, sending him toppling onto the bed beside Rin. Rin followed him smoothly, dodging flailing elbows and a flopping erect dick that nearly slapped him across the face, to reverse their positions, straddling Haru’s legs with a satisfied huff.

Haru’s expression flashed shocked offense at first, before quickly devolving into a milieu of anger and confusion and, finally, blessedly, arousal again (which looked a hell of a lot like anger and offense and had been the source of no few flare-ups between them over the years). He opened his mouth to speak, but Rin—worried what he might say—cut him off by reaching beneath himself to steady Haru’s cock and guide it inside as he lowered himself onto it. It was always awkward, like this, in this position, even if it felt sexy as shit—he just really liked surprising Haru, liked feeling like he was in control of what Haru felt, since so often in their daily lives it was the other way around. Sometimes Haru fought him on it, and they’d roll around on the mattress a few revolutions before one got tired and let the other have his way, because fucking was fucking and so long as they got off at the end, the rest were petty details. But not this time.

This time, Haru just frowned, lips tight, and settled his hands at Rin’s hips to steady him as much as to give Haru something to grab on to while he pistoned from the bottom up. Rin leaned forward, bracing his palms flat against Haru’s shoulders, and eased his weight onto his knees, flexing his thighs to lift up experimentally before sliding back down. Still tight, still that familiar burn that told Rin he hadn’t prepped himself enough—but he didn’t really care. If this was it, if this was the end, he kind of wanted it to hurt. He wanted to still feel it in the morning, in the shower. Wanted to wince when he toed on a clean pair of boxers. He could’ve been doing the fucking tonight, if he’d wanted—Haru wasn’t that big a stubborn prick, not really. But then he wouldn’t be able to remember this, _this_ way. And he was selfish; he didn’t care if Haru forgot what his dick felt like, if memories of what they’d done and how they’d done it faded. That was always gonna happen eventually anyway. But Rin? Rin wanted to _savor_ this.

He bit his lip, worried something like a sob might come out, and that would just fucking _ruin_ tonight. He didn’t need to be going all maudlin over this, he needed to be _here_ , to be _present_ and in the moment and _feeling_ this. He closed his eyes again, careful not to squeeze too tight because the frustration and nerves and abject terror were doing a number on his mental state and he just might start crying real tears if he blinked wrong. Up again, that long, slick smooth slide of Haru’s shaft as he drew up off of it—and then down again, letting it open him up, each pass easier than the last, deeper, fuller. He could feel Haru’s chest heaving with labored, stilted breaths beneath his hands, a thudding heartbeat reverberating up through his palms, wrists, arms, joining with Rin’s own until they were in sync, like the easiest smoothest exchange. 

Haru’s fingers dug into his hips, pulling Rin tight on the downstroke as he snapped up to meet him in a slap of flesh against flesh, and Rin gasped, eyes shooting open. “J—eez, Haru, tell me when—”

“This isn’t the end.” Haru’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes lidded and pupils wide, and every muscle in his face, neck, shoulders looked tight and taught, like he was barely holding himself together. 

Rin huffed, curling his lips into a smirk, and flexed his ass to tighten his channel. “Sure as hell better not be; I’m nowhere near ready to pop yet.”

And then Haru, the fucking asshole, had the gall to slide his hands up, over Rin’s hips, up along his sides and then under his arms, curling just at his shoulders to hold him tight—and draw him down, until they were nose to nose. He wouldn’t stop _looking_ at Rin, with that deep, insistent gaze you could just lose yourself inside if you weren’t careful. He brought one hand around, bracing it against Rin’s jaw and being infuriatingly _gentle_ about it, brushing a thumb over the remnants of a scar he’d given himself shaving, like he was trying to memorize Rin too, imperfections and all. “We aren’t finished. This isn’t the end. Don’t…” His touched firmed, and his lips pursed, and the glanced away, the fight fading from his eyes.

Rin held there for a moment, mind racing. _Don’t do this just because you think everything’s over_ , he finished silently for Haru. _Don’t do this just because you think we’re going to be fired tomorrow_. _Don’t give up_. He wanted to laugh—how low had they fallen, that he had to be cheered up by Haru? _Rin_ was supposed to be the one always looking up, always looking ahead, dragging Haru behind him, even if it didn’t always feel like he was the one directing their course. 

It was pathetic. It was a travesty. And Rin fell in love just a little harder, despite every strip of good sense inside him screaming that this was the point where he needed to be drawing back, to start untangling the mess that had become his and Haru’s lives, because even if this wasn’t the end for them, it was still gonna have to be the end for _them_ , and leave it to Nanase Haruka to get in one last, stinging blow on the way out, trying to make Rin feel better about their impending expulsion and just making it hurt that much more without even realizing. He’d always been an oblivious asshole, either actively or passively ignoring the things he didn’t want to accept, and Rin had to admit that was part of his infuriating charm. It was fun, getting Haru to finally admit that he liked competitive swimming, or that there _were_ dishes just as good as mackerel, or that you _didnt_ have to always only wear one brand of jammers.

Somehow, though, Rin didn’t want to correct Haru here. He didn’t want to have to be the one to explain that he wasn’t savoring this moment because they wouldn’t have time to fuck after this when they were too busy trying to rearrange the shattered pieces of what had been promising professional careers—he was savoring it because they’d never _want_ to again. There’d be bitter memories and what-might-have-been and all kinds of nasty crap tied up in _them_ , so he was damn well gonna enjoy this while it lasted.

“Humor me?” he smiled wryly, bringing a hand up to cover Haru’s before turning his face into the palm and sliding Haru’s ring finger into his mouth, deep enough to kiss the ring. “I can’t brood about tomorrow if I’m getting my brains fucked out, right?” Haru frowned at Rin’s coarse language—but his dick seemed to like the tone in Rin’s voice, twitching inside Rin and sending little frissons of pleasure radiating up his spine. Rin let out a laugh that was actually genuine. “You don’t have to look like it’s such a _chore_. I’m happy to switch places if it’s that much an inconvenience.”

Haru cut him a sharp warning glare, hands slipping back down to grab Rin’s hips to hold him in place, just in case he got any ideas about making good on his threat. “…You can be really thick sometimes, you know?”

And yeah, Rin did know, but it was an odd comment to make just at the moment. Before he could press for an explanation, though, Haru snapped his hips, jolting Rin so hard his teeth clacked, and he swore under his breath, arms flailing until he caught himself against Haru’s chest. “I _told_ you—warn me before you—”

“Rin.” Haru rubbed a thumb in a hypnotizing circle over the ball of his hip, voice gone soft and dangerous. “I’m going to move.”

Rin released an annoyed huff, though he couldn’t keep his lips from curling into an excited smile, and he anchored his knees so the next stroke would hit _just_ right. “About time.” He hadn’t been joking, about needing _this_ to keep from worrying about what the morning might bring. No matter the outcome, this between them? Wasn’t going to be happening anymore. If they got kicked off the team, they probably wouldn’t see much more of each other _anyway_ , and even if they didn’t…this whole thing, their charade, playing lovey-dovey for the cameras and reporters and fans would tax them. Was _already_ taxing them. They were only screwing now out of desperation, even if Haru didn’t want to admit it. 

This would stop being _fun_ , and Haru didn’t do things that didn’t move him, didn’t thrill him. 

Maybe there was something to the saying that marriage sapped the spark from a relationship. He might have smiled bitterly at the thought—but just then came another of Haru’s driving thrusts, nearly knocking Rin off his dick, and he stopped thinking at all.

He leaned forward, arching his back so that the thrusts hit just where Rin wanted them most—and when he wasn’t seeing stars and feeling pleasure supercharging every nerve in his body, he was muttering every curse he knew in at least two different languages to urge Haru back in again, to fill him up, to bring it faster and harder and with as much desperation as Rin was feeling. Haru could play it cool on the surface—but there were some situations in which he just couldn’t hide his feelings. Like in the water, powering down the lane next to Rin—or in bed, his fingernails making half-moon marks in Rin’s biceps and hips jerking like he’d had a live wire shoved up his ass. 

_This isn’t the end_ , he had the nerve to try and say—and Rin wanted to believe him, thought maybe Haru had managed to convince himself. But that didn’t make it true.

He pitched forward, tucking his face into the crook of Haru’s neck and sucking at the pulse point, laying down kisses and licking the salty sheen of sweat from Haru’s skin. There’d be a nasty red welt there, one that wouldn’t fade entirely by morning. Haru would bear Rin’s marks even as their world was crumbling around them, and Rin’s hips and ass would complain loudly while they got their dressing down. 

Haru’s arms came up around him, slipping around his back and holding Rin tight as he murmured nonsense into Rin’s ear, his words becoming slurred and unintelligible before devolving into a mantra of Rin’s name in time with his thrusts. Rin’s cock lay trapped between them, the friction of their jolting bodies and the lubricant and leaking slick a deadly combination indeed. He began to rut into the tight channel, thighs clenched and knees anchored so that each upthrust of Haru’s connected with a sharp clap but didn’t unseat him. “Faster…” he whispered against Haru’s pulse, suckling insistently. “Haru. Haru.” God he loved the feel of Haru’s name on his tongue when he was just on the knife edge of coming, knowing that that throaty roughness and the breathy way it fell from his lips was because Haru was over him or under him or inside him or all around him and just as turned on, just as close to blissed out nirvana, with Rin’s name on _his_ lips. Shit, he was gonna miss this. He could fucking _cry_ he was gonna miss this so much.

He drew back, cocking his head to the side, and used one hand to guide Haru’s face around, pressing their lips together and relishing the way his name slid into a soft moan of protest as Haru tried to decide if he just wanted to keep chanting _Rin_ or make out until they spilled all over Haru’s freshly laundered sheets. Making out quickly won the day, and Haru’s mouth opened invitingly, drawing Rin in and so sweetly and desperately. Like he wasn’t content just getting to fuck Rin, he wanted to get as close to _being_ fucked as he could. Rin obliged, because of course he did, he always gave Haru what he wanted. He slipped Haru tongue while he rubbed himself off against Haru’s belly on the down thrust and clenched tight around Haru’s shaft on the up—rinsing and repeating until that tickle behind his balls grew overwhelming, a cresting rogue wave they couldn’t stop even if they’d wanted to. Haru groaned some feeble protest—or maybe a warning—into his mouth, but Rin ignored it and didn’t stop his rocking and rutting until Haru’s hips connected with his a final time and held, with Rin following moments later. He buried his fingers in Haru’s hair, seizing for a long heartbeat—and then shattered with a vocal grunt of release, huffing and heaving. 

He clung to that moment, that brief blip of time where his mind was swimming with endorphins and adrenaline was flooding his veins. Where he was hot and sweaty and sticky, but so was Haru, pressed against him and inside him, and they were breathing each other’s air and could still taste each other on their tongues. He dug in, stubborn and relentless, because he just needed that moment to last a _little_ bit longer—but Haru was already squirming, clearly intent on that long soak he always indulged in after they messed around. Rin feigned petulant protests, pretending he simply didn’t want to move because he was tired, not because he physically ached at the thought of being pushed aside just now. He clenched his ass experimentally, wondering if maybe he could hold Haru there, but most of his strength had fled him, lost in the aftermath of orgasm.

“Rin,” Haru grunted in annoyance, one hand on his shoulder to push him off, and when Rin offered no aid, he shoved harder, sending Rin flopping onto his back with an offended squawk.

“Fuck—haven’t you heard of an ‘afterglow’? Geez…”

“How long?” he asked, ignoring Rin’s cursing and reaching over Rin’s head for something—probably the lamp on the bedside table; it was getting dark.

“How long—?” Rin shut his eyes, prepared to be blinded.

“How long until you’re up again?” Something fell onto Rin’s chest, and he blinked away the stars from his eyes until it came into focus. An unopened condom. He fixed Haru with a confused frown—only for Haru to ease upright, slinging one leg over Rin’s midsection to settle across his hips. He’d already stripped off his own used condom and was squirting a dollop of lubricant into his palm to reach behind himself, gingerly stroking his sensitive, limp cock. “I told you. This isn’t the end.”

* * *

Somewhere along the way, they eventually stumbled from Haru’s bed and into fresh underwear to eat the now-cold dinner Haru had prepared what felt like hours before. It was filling, and still tasty, even reheated. They took turns washing the sweat and sex and travel stench from their bodies, and by the time Rin finished his ablutions and returned to the bedroom—wearing an old t-shirt and sweats he kept in a corner of one of Haru’s drawers—Haru had already changed out the sheets on his bed and had the window propped open to air out the room. 

“What time does Coach want us there?”

Rin winced at the reminder; he’d managed to go five minutes for a moment there without thinking about it. “He said first thing in the morning…so we’d better be there early. Maybe 6:45?”

Haru nodded, punching buttons on his phone—presumably setting his alarm. “I’m setting mine for 5,” he clarified a moment later.

“That early? It won’t take us more than a half hour to get to the pool.”

Haru gave him a funny look—half irritated, half amused. “We’re going jogging, aren’t we?”

Rin frowned—he really wasn’t in the mood to work out. Which was funny, since usually working out was how he blew off steam—well, working out and getting _worked out_. He had nervous energy aplenty, sure, but there was sickening iron pit forming in his stomach, stress sapping his strength, and he wasn’t sure he’d be up for it, really. “…I dunno, I’m shot from this trip, and I’d honestly rather just sleep in another hour…”

Haru’s gaze went cool, and he shrugged, snapping his phone shut. “Fine. I’ll go alone.” He stood to fold back the duvet to slide under the covers. “Should I wake you when I get back, or will you set your own alarm?”

God, but Haru could be a manipulative little prick. Heaven forbid he come out and _say_ what he wanted—no, he had to be a petty shit and pull this passive-aggressive schtick when it suited him. Rin rolled his eyes and ran fingers through his hair, separating the strands so they dried more quickly. “Forget it—I’ll come along. Twist my arm, why don’t you.”

“I didn’t say anything—”

“Where’s the futon?” Rin poked his head into the little closet, frowning when he didn’t see his bedroll.

“Out on the balcony, getting aired out.” Rin had a hand on the latch of the sliding door when Haru reached out to stop him. “Leave it.”

“I’m _tired_ ,” he groused, not bothering to disguise the whine in his tone. “Someone wasn’t satisfied with two rounds.”

“I hadn’t come yet; it still counted as the same round,” he sniffed, setting his phone on the bedside table. “Just sleep here.” He nodded to the bed, pulling the covers down further in invitation.

“Wh—your bed? Let me just get the futon.”

“We slept together all the time as kids. And in Australia.”

“Yeah, and you complained about it, too.” He pursed his lips, but crawled in next to Haru with no further protest. “Someone’s needy tonight.”

“I’m no comparison to you.”

And Rin had to snort at that, because he was kind of right. “Yeah, but you love me for it.”

Haru reached for the lamp, tugging on the short chain and bringing darkness down upon them. “More like despite it.”

* * *

“I must say, I’m honored, gentlemen.” Miura slammed the door shut behind himself as he followed them into his office, gesturing to the two empty chairs in front of his desk. “I thought you might’ve been too caught up in the media storm you two have shipped up to spare the time for me. Did you, ah, enjoy your little trip home?”

Rin shifted guiltily in his seat. He’d expected Miura to start off strong, but if this was his opening salvo, Rin shuddered to think of what the actual interrogation might bring. “…We hadn’t been home in a while, and we wanted to make sure our families weren’t catching any flak because of the story.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Because making sure you’re not inconveniencing people is your _top priority_ is it?” Miura shifted his attention to Haru. “What about you, Nanase? Having a nice vacation?”

“Not particularly.” He glanced at the glassed-in wall behind Miura, beyond which lay the natatorium. “I’d like to get back to training.”

Rin fought the urge to bury his face in his palms—couldn’t Haru just not be a little shit for _one_ day? He tried to beam thoughts of _shut the hell up shut the hell up shut the hell up_ directly into Haru’s skull, but it was impossible to tell if they’d taken. 

Miura, for his part, looked red in the face, and the vessel at his temple looked fit to burst. He reached for his coffee mug—then frowned, for it was empty, and moved it aside. He took a deep, bracing breath. “…If it was up to me, I’d kid the both of you to the curb just for all the shit you’ve pulled. I was on your side before—you had my sympathy, really you did. But then you directly disobeyed an order to sit tight and wait _and_ you skipped town and avoided taking your punishment like men. So I could _give a rat’s ass_ about your bright, shining futures or your trumped-up sham relationship, given all the grief you’ve brought down on this club, this club that’s supposed to be about putting the best face of our country forward, _not_ about your personal problems.” He had a lot of nerve, diminishing what they’d been through to ‘personal problems’, but Rin kept his lips firmly zipped, knowing it was pointless to argue now. “…But it’s not up to me, and as pissed as the Board is with all of _this_ —” Miura gestured to the both of them. “—They can’t drop you now without inviting more trouble. A few sponsors have even called to clarify that they want nothing to do with allegations that they’d not support…” He cleared his throat. “Well, people like you.” He began to reach for his mug again, before remembering it was empty. A nervous habit, it seemed. “It’s all about optics.”

Rin swallowed—or tried to. It wasn’t going down. His voice came out choked as a result. “Then—we’re…we’re not…?”

“You’re not fired. You’re off suspension.” And before Rin could process that, he added with a finger in their faces. “But you’re on the Board’s radar now, squarely in their crosshairs, and they’re just _aching_ for a legitimate reason to drop you now. And I’m rooting for them.” He slid around the desk, looming over them with less height and more bulk. Rin felt like a child all over again. “So if I were you, I’d make damn sure this turns out to be a plus for everyone involved. No more interviews, no more exclusives—if anyone asks you for a quote, direct them the JSF’s main offices, where they can get our formal statement on any relevant matters.” He stomped over to a file cabinet, grabbing a box from on top and checking its contents. “If I see so much as a Wedding Announcement in the papers, I’ll have you out of here so fast your asses will leave skidmarks on the chairs.” He turned back to Rin. “You’re expected back at practice tomorrow morning.”

“Not today?” Haru, of course. Because why not press their luck?

Miura gave him a look that could’ve melted iron. “No, _not_ today, because if I have to look at either of you for longer than it takes for you to get the hell out of my office, I’m gonna be sick.” He shoved the box at Rin. “Here.”

Rin frowned down at the box—nondescript cardboard, and heavy. “What’s this?”

Miura’s frown shifted into a wicked, acidic grin devoid of any good humor. “Your fanmail. Seems there are a lot of people wanting to wish the lovely couple many happy returns.”

Rin felt the bottom of his stomach drop out as the iron pit that had been forming there finally broke through. He’d thought, whatever happened, this would be the end of it. The end of all the stress and lies and secrecy. 

But no, it was just beginning.


	7. Chapter 7

The box hit Haru’s bed with a soft _whump_ , and the springs of the mattress creaked their objection as Rin settled down and began to peel back the flaps. Haru sat on the opposite side, two water bottles in hand, and looked on curiously as Rin worked to open the box.

Inside was, as Coach Miura had promised, a fuck-ton of letters. “Fanmail” he’d called it, though Rin wondered if even half of them held any of the promised well-wishes, considering that Rin and Haru were…well, Rin and Haru. Most of the complaints and snooty uptight ‘why-I-never-what-has-this-world-come-to’ letters would have likely gone straight to the head office, but there was no telling how many had decided to address the two responsible for all the hubbub directly.

Haru reached for one rubber band-wrapped stack—the letter on top had been placed in a light blue envelope with a sticker of a dolphin on the front, and the postmark indicated that it had come from Sendai. He glanced to Rin, perhaps looking for permission, and Rin just shrugged. “Nothing else to do today…may as well see how much damage we’ve done…” He held out a box cutter to Haru, who frowned in a _Really?_ sort of way and then rose to rifle through the drawer of the desk hugging the wall, eventually pulling out a letter opener. 

“‘Dear Nanase-sama: I recently watched your interview with Matsuoka-san on _Sports Weekly_. I must admit it was quite a shock. I thought it was surely some sort of photo manipulation when a friend showed me the shot of the two of you kissing, but after watching your interview, I understood that it was real. Some of your fans will surely be disappointed—but please don’t let it get to you. You still have many people supporting you, and I’m one of them. It’s none of my business how you live your private life, as long as you are satisfied and as long as I can still cheer you on in your swimming competitions. Please take care of yourself.”

Rin felt a line of tension that had taken up residence in his shoulders from the moment Haru unfolded the letter finally ease. “…Oh. Well that wasn’t so bad.”

Haru shook his head in agreement, slicing open the next one, and Rin reached for a different stack and began working his way through the letters. Most were reasonably formal, as the first had been, stating that their relationship was none of their business, or as long as they could still represent the country honorably, then they didn’t care about what they did in private. Rarer, blessedly, were the ones that carried a chastising tone, reminding them that such acts were best engaged in behind closed doors, and one distraught mother had scolded Haru for no longer being an appropriate role model for her young son. Rin had caught that one, mouthing it silently to himself, and then discreetly placed it to the side to shred. 

“What does that one say?”

Fuck. Rin tried to lose it in the pile he’d already read. “Same thing they all do—supporting you, please do your best, try to be more careful next time—”

But Haru had already snatched up the letter, eyes running over the neatly printed kanji before Rin could make a grab for it. He let his head drop into his hands—this was the last thing he needed right now, Haru getting hit over the head with the knowledge that he was going to actually start _feeling_ the consequences of judgmental fans (well, former fans). Rin had expected such reactions and was pretty confident he could weather the storm—he’d stopped caring about the opinions of people who didn’t give a shit about him long ago—but this was _different_ for Haru. This would be the straw that broke him—he’d get this _look_ in his eye, the one that said _so annoying_ once it hit him that he’d have to deal with this crap. It wouldn’t just be playing nice for potential candid snaps heading to and from practice; it’d be dealing with people who thought they had any place telling them how to live their lives. And Haru? Haru did _not_ react well to people telling him how to live his life. Sure, one letter was nothing—but these things grated, they built up, and it’d be like senior year all over again, Haru finally having had _enough_ and leaving Rin confused and sidestruck and just _lost_.

Haru huffed softly, halfway to a derisive snort, and slipped the letter back into its envelope, tossing it back into the box. “Whatever.”

Rin lifted his head slowly. “…‘Whatever’?” He glanced at the box, wondering if he could grab the letter back. He still wanted to shred it. “…Haru, you—”

“I don’t swim for her. Or her son. I don’t care what she thinks.” Rin frowned at this, because when Haru said these sorts of things, it often smacked of denial—and Haru was _good_ at denial—but then he continued: “I’ll do what I want, how I want, and with who I want—for swimming, and for everything else, too.” He wrapped the rubber band back around the stack he’d just finished going through. “So you should too.”

Rin felt suddenly ashamed—accused of being more uncomfortable with their reception than Haru was. He felt a spike of defensive anger spear through him. “I am—I _do_.”

Haru reached for another stack. “Didn’t feel like it last night.”

“Last night—” He grimaced, feeling naked, and Haru wouldn’t stop _staring_ at him now, like he could see right through Rin. “…It wasn’t about that.”

“What was it about, then?”

“Just—we were gonna lose our jobs! I just wanted to do something…I dunno, to make it worth it, that’s all.” Wait, no—that made it sound like Rin thought being able to sleep with Haru made his hopes and dreams crumbling around him _worth it_. He couldn’t weigh things like that. “We…I needed to be distracted, to forget.”

“So why did it feel like you were trying to remember it?”

Rin could feel his cheeks heating, knew that there was a flush working its way up from his chest that would soon darken his face, and Haru would want to know _why_ , and they still had three-quarters of this box to go through and practice in the morning and Rin was _not_ spending the night here again—that wasn’t what they were, that wasn’t what they _did_. “That—I wasn’t—” 

But he didn’t get to tell Haru what he wasn’t, as a tinkling notification interrupted the tense quiet of Haru’d bedroom, and Rin glanced to his phone charging on the bedside table with an irritated growl in the back of his throat..

When he reached for it, Haru tried to stop him with a sharp, demanding _Rin_ that said they weren’t finished talking, and Rin huffed, “It’s a Skype call—probably Russell or Lori. I _have_ to.” He snatched up the phone and rolled off the bed, stepping out into the kitchen and ignoring the uncomfortable itching of Haru’s eyes following him out. He was halfway grateful for the interruption—at least it gave him a moment to breathe, collect his thoughts, and figure out how to quickly and quietly make his exit. They weren’t dating—and spending all this time together…it was going to ruin a good thing, the longer they indulged in this fiction. Another week or so, maybe two, and this whole thing would blow over, and they could get back to focusing on what mattered: their _separate_ lives.

The screen flashed the caller—it was Russel and Lori’s number, as suspected. He wasn’t entirely ready for this conversation, but he’d already made his excuses, and if offered the choice between continuing his chat with Haru and their pile of fanmail or discussing his sex life with his homestay parents…well, it spoke to how much he was keen to avoid Haru right now that he pressed the ‘accept’ button and brought his phone to his ear. “Hello?” he offered in English.

_“Rin! We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for a week now!”_ Lori, then.

He glanced back into the bedroom; Haru wasn’t watching him anymore at least, his focus instead back on the box of fanmail. Rin kept his voice low, though he knew Haru’s English still didn’t extend beyond a few basic phrases, despite Rin’s insistence he buckle down and get a proper tutor if he didn’t want to study with Rin. “Oh—yeah, sorry. I…turned my phone off for a while there, it’s been…” He trailed off, unsure if Lori was really calling because of the incident, or if she’d just been concerned she wasn’t able to connect with him for a normal, run-of-the-mill catch-up. “Sorry,” he repeated simply, at a loss.

She sighed into the receiver. _“Yes, well, you ought to be.”_ There was a forced tone of chiding. _“Married six months now, you say, and not a word to either of us!”_ In a softer, fonder voice, she added, _“…We only wanted you to know we were happy for you, even if you didn’t feel you could tell us before now.”_

He swallowed a reminder that he hadn’t been intending to tell them anything at all, as there was nothing _to_ say—how did you explain to your host family you’d just wanted an excuse to fuck your rival? “It’s—it was, I mean… It wasn’t something we intended to share with anyone really, because of…well, this mess it’s become.”

_“Yes, I read there was some trouble with your swimming federation—they’re not going to punish you or anything, are they? It’s not as if this sort of business is_ illegal _in Japan—or is it? Oh, dear, I don’t know anything about how this works—”_

“No—no, not illegal. Not really. It’s just…complicated. There’s sponsorships to worry about, the club image, a lot of…” He wiped a hand over his face, wishing he’d had the forethought to pop a few Bufferin before taking this call. “I think it’s gonna work out, though. If not, maybe I’ll just move back to Australia change my citizenship.”

Lori laughed. _“Well you know your room’s just as you left it!”_ Then, in a slightly more sober voice, she offered, _“…You’ll come back to visit soon then, right? You and Haruka. We’d like to celebrate you properly.”_

Fuck, of course they’d want him to bring Haru around whenever he dropped in now. He groped for an excuse. “I’ll suggest it—but Haru’s a terrible traveler. He’s useless outside of Honshu, does nothing but complain.”

_“Oh, well then, far be it from me to disturb your matrimonial bliss.”_ He could practically hear the smile in her voice and felt his cheeks heat in flushed pride; even if she was ribbing him for a fictitious marriage, she didn’t know that, and the genuine pride and support of her words boosted his flagging spirits. _“But do try, all the same. We’re…just so thrilled for you, Rin. Truly we are. I know you thought we didn’t notice all those years, but you were never terribly subtle with that little crush you’d been nursing, so it’s just—”_ She sighed. _“Oh, it’s just perfect, that’s all.”_

Rin frowned. “…I wasn’t nursing a crush.”

She released a tittered chuckle. _“You absolutely were! We’d have to have been blind to not notice.”_

“Or seeing things to _have_ noticed!” His voice rose with the defensive tone, and Haru cut him a glare. He ducked his head in apology and shuffled further down the hall. He pulled the phone closer, keeping his voice down“…I didn’t have a crush on him.”

_“Rin, I washed your sheets for four years—a mother, host or otherwise, picks up on things.”_

And now his cheeks were heating with mortification. “Whatever. Is that all you wanted?”

She huffed in amusement at the petulant tone he’d taken. _“Did I interrupt something? Ah—are you with Haruka now? Can I speak to him? I’d like to offer him our congratulations as well—and maybe I can save you the trouble of inviting the two of you down here to visit.”_

“He doesn’t speak English, remember?”

_“Still? Didn’t you say you were tutoring him? Or was that just an excuse to spend time together?”_

“I’m hanging up.” 

_“All right, all right—but Russell’s going to want to give you a piece of his mind as well, so look for another call in a few days? I’m sure he’s got all sorts of manly wisdom he’s hoping to impart regarding the institute of marriage.”_

He reassured her that he wouldn’t disappear again, then disconnected the call, staring at the screen for several long beats. It’d gone well—an easier conversation, even, than the one he’d had with his _real_ mother, though certainly not more honest. He supposed it was easy enough to get through a phone call when the person on the other end of the line didn’t know what lies you’d been sowing to save your skin. He slumped back against the wall, letting his head fall to his chest. She’d been so _happy_ for him, convinced he’d gone and married someone he’d pined after for years. She thought his dreams had come true, that this was ~true love~ and could surely weather any storm. 

And she wanted to meet them—to meet them _as_ “them”. Not as Haru and Rin but Haru-and-Rin, and they were going to have to go down there, eventually—maybe later in the fall, when beach season would just be getting started in Australia—and they’d have to stand there and lie right to Russell and Lori’s faces, take ‘family portraits’ and field questions like, “So do you get to take each other’s name or anything like that?” and “What was the proposal like?”

Rin could bullshit that for the odd interview or two from a stranger—had even been more or less okay going on air to talk about it. But people he cared about? People who cared about _him_? Fuck, he couldn’t do this. And he couldn’t ask Haru to do it, either—not that anyone in his right mind would _want_ to. _”Annoying…”_ he could already hear, each event and expectation hung around Haru’s neck just another straw, and eventually he’d break. He’d snap. He’d decide none of this was worth it, maybe even—shit, maybe even that _swimming_ wasn’t worth it, not like this. And suddenly this wasn’t just about this ‘marriage’ ruining a good sleeping arrangement, but maybe ruining their careers, their _lives_. The ones they’d just spent all of their celebrity capital trying to save by committing to this fiasco in the first place.

He clenched his eyes shut, rubbing the heels of his palms in his eyes. They were stuck. Stuck in a lie they’d have to play to the hilt for months, maybe _years_ to come. They’d come to resent one another before this was all through—to buckle under the expectations and assumptions until it became a chore. Hell, even the thrill of doing something illicit was gone, now. Everyone assumed they were fucking, so who cared if they played footsie under the table at dinner or grab-ass in the locker room? Dull.

“Was it Lori?”

Rin straightened, blinking the stars from his eyes, and squinted to try and make out Haru, who was framed in the doorway to his bedroom with a look of concern on his face. “What?”

“The call—it was Lori? Or Russell?”

“Oh.” Rin glanced down at the phone still in his hand. “Lori.” When Haru continued to stare, waiting patiently, he explained, “Just gave me grief about not telling them we got hitched. I guess somehow the news made it down there…”

Haru stepped forward, bare feet padding softly on the kitchen tile until he’d drawn up alongside Rin in the narrow hallway leading to the bathroom. “…Was she angry, then?”

Rin snorted. “Hardly. I think she would’ve squeezed the life out of us if we’d been standing in front of her.” Haru’s perplexed frown suggested he didn’t quite realize that wasn’t a sign she’d been angry, so Rin added, “…She was happy. Really happy. For us.” _For me_ was more accurate, but Haru didn’t need to know that. He also didn’t need to hear that mortifying story about Rin crushing on Haru from age twelve. “…I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth.”

Haru shrugged. “There’ll be time to clear it up later when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, well, sounds like the sooner the better—she wants us to come visit so she and Russell can ‘celebrate us properly’, she said.”

Haru’s gaze went distant, and he brought a finger up to tap his chin in thought. “…Maybe we can head down a week early ahead of the autumn training camp we usually have in Sydney. We’ll have to make our own arrangements, I guess, but—”

“Wait—” Rin cut him off with a dry, nervous laugh. “You’re serious? Hell no, we’re not gonna go down there and let them buy us dinner to celebrate our _marriage_ , idiot. Because _we aren’t married_.” He shook his head, shouldering past Haru back into the bedroom. “There’s no point.”

“They’ll still want to see you—and support you. You said they were happy for us. Surely they’ll be as understanding even once you explain the situation.”

And he was right—of _course_ they’d be understanding. But then they’d want to know the truth, would want to pepper Rin—pepper _them_ —with questions about what they were, what they were doing, why they were doing it, and Rin neither wanted to hear nor thought he could stand what Haru’s responses to those questions might be. It hadn’t sunk in for Haru yet what their lives were going to be like now—what kinds of lies they’d have to tell, what their truths might risk. He hadn’t run through all of these nightmare scenarios in his head as it steadily dawned how thoroughly they’d boxed themselves into a corner.

Rin stopped at the threshold to the bedroom, staring down at the box of fanmail sitting on Haru’s bed. Full of words of support and disappointment and confusion and elation—people who wanted to drown them in their emotions when this wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s damn business. When it was supposed to just be _them_ enjoying what they had, for however long they had it.

Rin could _be_ himself with Haru, because Haru’d seen him at his absolute worst and hadn’t rejected him for it. Far from it, he’d gone out of his way to draw Rin back in, back to _him_ , and Rin had done the same when the tables had been turned, because whether they liked it or not, they couldn’t be the best version of themselves without each other. 

He marched over to the desk and snatched up his bag from where it hung across Haru’s chair, sliding it over his shoulder and sweeping his eyes around the room to be sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

“Where are you going?” Haru, behind him.

“Back to my place.” No, nothing else that he couldn’t live without just now. He turned on his heel and made for the door, aware of Haru trailing close behind to see him out. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

“We aren’t done going through the letters.”

“Then go through them if you want—I don’t, so I’m not.” And if Haru had a problem with that, then they could get a damn divorce. He paused with one hand on the knob, a brow raised as he waited for Haru to push for the fight Rin was actually aching to have, just to be able to go off on someone. If he didn’t have it out with Haru, he’d probably have it out with the next person he spoke to, and the little old man who worked the register at his local Lawson’s really didn’t deserve that. But Haru, being Haru, never did what Rin wanted him to and instead backed down. Rin forced himself to wait a tense beat, wondering if Haru would at least say _something_ he could jump on, but he just crossed his arms and stared down at the faded linoleum tile of the kitchen. Rin adjusted the strap to his bag at his shoulder, grunted out, “G’night,” and then pushed out into the sweltering evening.

* * *

He’d assumed their first day back at practice in over a week would be awkward. And it was, at first—everyone kind of gave them a wide berth when they strode in together (because of course they had to come in _together_ ), no one having the guts to be the first to approach them and welcome them back or at least offer their condolences for being shoved out of the closet and into the limelight. Rin supposed it could be worse; cool, uncomfortable distance was better, admittedly, than outright derision and disgust. Rin kept his eyes to himself in the locker room, lest anyone think he might be trying to get an eyeful, and was in and out his quickest yet. Haru followed soon after, but he was always quick to get changed—in large part because he usually already had his suit on under his streetclothes. 

Coach Miura didn’t acknowledge them or their timely return to practice once he finally dragged himself out of his office, and he wasted no time in barking out group assignments and training schedules for the day. After a quick run-down regarding upcoming tournaments and joint training camps they were to be prepping for, he blew a sharp retort on his whistle and set the group to dispersing. Rin didn’t know if Miura had purposefully assigned him and Haru to separate groups, but he was grateful for the respite all the same, as his teammates actually engaged him in conversation for the first time that morning once Group B was lined up behind the first three starting blocks for their half hour of laps. 

“Holy shit, you’re really…” It was Sasahara—a fellow Fly swimmer two years Rin’s senior and married for a year now to one of the team’s nutritionists. His eye had been drawn to the ring on Rin’s finger, and Rin made a fist and quickly brought his hands behind his back. He’d forgotten to take it off for practice, and now it was gonna be a _thing_. “Oh—sorry, did you… I mean, I guess you don’t really wanna talk about it, huh?” Sasahara ducked his head in apology, and Rin felt like a dick.

He licked his lips and turned his focus to the lane he and Sasahara were in line to swim—anything to keep from looking at Sasahara’s forcedly cheery face. “It’s nothing—I just forgot to take it off in the locker room is all. I don’t really…want people making a big deal out of it. We don’t, I mean.” _We we we_ , he reminded himself—they were a ‘we’ now, and he needed to keep up the charade.

Sasahara nodded, crossing his arms and feigning interest in the breaststroker who’d just entered the water three people in front of them. “I get it, it’s fine.”

Rin raised a brow. “…You get it?”

“Oh—no, I don’t mean—just, I was just…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, shaking his head, and Rin decided to cut him a break.

“Relax, I understood. It’s…just been a lot of stress is all. We’d really rather get back to our jobs than have to deal with what people might think about us.”

Sasahara frowned. “I guess… But at least it worked out, right? I mean, they don’t tell us anything, but you’re here, so I assume things are…okay?”

No, they were way the hell on the other side of the planet from ‘okay’, but Sasahara didn’t need to hear that, so Rin just nodded and reminded himself not to glance over at the huge window fronting the workout room, where Group A and Haru were doing weights. “As okay as they’re gonna get.”

Sasahara blessedly switched topics, filling Rin on all that he’d missed in the past week (apparently someone had puked in one of the men’s urinals and Miura had about had a fit when he’d found out the culprits were members of the girls’ relay team who’d snuck in after practice and gotten tipsy in celebration of a recent National record they’d secured) before begging Rin’s opinion on whether or not he thought Sasahara should push Coach Miura to let him swim in the individual medley at Pan Pacific. “My backstroke’s still my weakest leg, but I’m nipping at Nanase’s heels in the 200-meter freestyle, so I figure maybe I can make up some time on that leg, and Keiko-san’s got me on this new diet that she says will help me…” He waved a hand in front of Rin’s face, snapping his fingers. “Oi, Matsuoka?”

Rin gave a start. “Wha—huh? Sorry, I was…”

Sasahara followed Rin’s eyeline, glancing over at Group A, which had finished their weight room session and were now doing cool-down stretches on yoga mats poolside. “…You want me to see if Coach’ll let me and Nanase switch groups?”

“The hell?” He gave an exaggerated sneer of confusion. “Of course not.”

Sasahara held his hands up defensively. “I don’t mind—I mean, if I had the chance to hang around Keiko-san for most of practice, I’d take it in a heartbeat.”

“Of course you would,” Rin muttered. “You two make me sick.” He said this with a roll of his eyes and a thin smile, to show he wasn’t being all that serious, and Sasahara gave a shy duck of his head. He was all muscle and heart and infatuation with his wife, this one. It’d drive anyone nuts. “We aren’t like that. We need our space.” It wasn’t a lie, and it helped settle Rin’s nerves to be able to say it.

Sasahara shrugged. “Okay—but I don’t mind asking.”

Rin shook his head. “Even if I wanted that, I wouldn’t ask—it’s bad enough we’ve been made a spectacle. I don’t want people feeling awkward, like they’ve gotta walk on eggshells around us now.”

Sasahara _hmm_ ed softly in agreement. “Well, Coach made sure to tell us all not to give you any grief or tease you about…you know, about last week. Said if he heard anything untoward being said about you or Nanase, he’d, quote: ‘put a boot up your asses so far you can switch to the high-dive’, as I recall.”

Rin gave him a funny look, trying to stifle a smile at the image. “Seriously?” That certainly conflicted with the way Miura had nearly had an aneurysm the day before, so angry had he been with the both of them—but then again, neither Rin nor Haru had been model team members throughout this whole debacle, so they’d deserved some of Miura’s wrath (but not all of it, he maintained). Their coach had always been the ‘tough love’ type, which suited both Rin and Haru quite well, all things considered—Rin needed discipline and a harsh taskmaster who’d run him ragged, and Haru needed someone to not put up with his ‘I only swim free, I don’t care about times’ crap while still retaining the self-control not to throw him off the team for his attitude. Knowing that, despite all they’d done to his mental stability in the past couple of weeks, Miura had _still_ preemptively stood up for them and made sure their charade didn’t earn them any flak from their teammates…well, Miura could be an asshole, but at least he was a thoughtful one who gave a shit about them.

They were forced to drop their conversation when Sasahara’s turn at the block came, and Rin stepped up shortly behind him after he’d gotten a few body lengths in, adjusting his goggles and trying to switch gears from worrying about his job to making sure he kept it. There was no guarantee that Miura wouldn’t recommend Rin’s removal from the team the moment his times ticked below his three-month average, after all.

He crouched down, counting down in his mind—and felt the subtle discomfort of being watched ripple down his spine. He flicked his glance back over to Group A, meeting Haru’s steady gaze. He was staring, just _staring_ for anyone to see. They were gonna become a joke at this rate, didn’t he realize? Rin resolutely forced his focus back to the lane, closed his eyes to center himself, then leapt into the blue, praying that the chill of the water and the burn of straining muscles and working lungs would wash away the irritation of it all.

It didn’t.

* * *

Rin slammed his locker shut with more force than necessary, and Takagi at the end of their row jumped in his skin, throwing Rin a dark look before quickly pulling his shirt on and beating a hasty retreat. Whether he’d done so to escape the potential roving eyes of a teammate known to have a taste in men (never mind that he was supposed to be _married_ now, and did people think so little of him?) or just to avoid any confrontation with Rin when he was in a mood—or both—Rin couldn’t tell, but he was glad for the semblance of privacy all the same.

He’d missed practice, fiercely, and he was relieved beyond words to be back—but despite the team’s best efforts to keep from making Rin or Haru feel uncomfortable…it still felt like there was a barrier between them now. It’d been one thing to lie tacitly—to fib by omission. It was no one’s business who slept with who, after all, and Rin didn’t think _he_ was privy to the bedroom habits of all of their teammates either. But it was another thing entirely to be flat-out lying to them overtly. He’d received two attempts at congratulations that morning alone, and he was pretty sure Haru’d gotten similar well-wishes. If it made Rin this uncomfortable, he shuddered to think of how Haru was taking it all.

And it wasn’t as if he could stand up before them and ask them to please stop bringing up their marriage, because they’d totally made it up and all mention of it was really killing the rather satisfying sleeping arrangement they’d been enjoying thus far. 

“Oi. Stop that. We just got our suspension lifted; you don’t want to get it reinstated for destruction of team property.”

Rin snorted derisively, pulling his duffel up onto the bench he was straddling and drawing the zip. “I’ll pay for any damages from the dowry your parents owe me.”

“You know that makes you the bride, then.”

“As long as I don’t have to take your name.” He glanced up, eyes immediately going—for reasons he didn’t want to ponder—to Haru’s ring finger. “…You forgot to take yours off too, huh.”

Haru looked down, admiring the ring. “I didn’t see the need to.”

“You ought to—it can slip off during a race. Even Sasahara takes his off for practice.” It was kind of sweet, actually; he had his wife thread it onto a chain that she wore around her neck until he’d finished showering after practice. God Rin hated that guy.

Haru shrugged, indifferent, and began a slow march down the aisle. His sneakers rasped against the grit of the concrete flooring, and in the distance Rin caught muffled echoes from the girls’ locker room next door—they were probably among the last to leave for the day. 

Haru settled down on the bench with Rin’s bag between them, his own bag hanging at the hip. He was waiting for Rin, it registered—and Rin felt a wave of irritation roil through him. He wasn’t in the _mood_ tonight. 

“What were you talking to Sasahara about?”

Rin shook out his legskins, then began carefully rolling them up. “Nothing really—just what you’d expect.” He shrugged. “You probably got the same—congratulations, reassurances it’s no big deal, some sympathy for everything going to shit.” He glanced at Haru out of the corner of his eye as he drew out a plastic bag and tied it off with his wet legskins inside.

“Oh.” His gaze dropped, going a little distant in thought.

“What?”

“I thought maybe he’d said something to you.”

“He did—I just told you. The usual stuff, nothing of note.”

“I meant I thought maybe he’d said something rude to you.”

Rin made a face. “Why would you think something like that?” Sasahara reminded Rin a lot of Makoto—not a mean bone in his body. He was the last person on the team Rin would have expected to get nasty comments from, even if he’d seemed a little uncomfortable with the situation in general.

“Because you’re pissed off about something.”

And there it was. Rin tossed his bagged suit into his duffel and jerked the zip closed, shaking his head and releasing a dry, mirthless chuckle. “You’re getting good at this.”

“At what.”

“Marriage—you know, how the wife’ll start this roundabout, circular conversation that seems innocent at first blush but eventually winds around to a confrontation her husband never saw coming, this carefully laid trap he just sauntered right into?”

“I thought we agreed you were the bride.”

“Fuck you.” He threw his sneakers onto the ground and tried to toe them on before shortly realizing, to his frustration, that he’d have to untie them properly. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough, because Haru was annoying enough when he was ignoring a problem but ten times _worse_ when he wouldn’t let it go.

Haru leaned closer, easing forward at the waist to put himself back in Rin’s line of vision as he struggled to tie his shoes. “You were pissed about something last night, too.” Rin’s fingers fumbled with the laces. “Was it the letters?” There—one shoe down, one to go. “Was it Lori?” He jerked on the laces, wincing when they pulled too tight and cut off the circulation in his foot. “Was it—”

“Just—leave it!” Haru jerked back, eyes flaring wide and cheeks pink with shock. How did he still manage to look so damn good gaping like a fish? “Geez, get a fucking clue! I don’t want to talk about it!”

Haru recovered more quickly and with greater grace than Rin might have expected, though, and he squared his shoulders stubbornly. “…Too bad.”

“ _What_?” He’d said it so coolly, smooth and sure, but Rin could practically see him vibrating, could feel the tension in the air, and knew he was just as taut and ready to go as Rin was.

Before Rin could decide if that turned him on or just pushed him further toward the edge, Haru continued, “You never talk about things.”

“Oh that’s _rich_ coming from you!” Rin wanted to laugh, but when he tried, it mostly came out a pathetic, wheezing cough that sounded like he was on the verge of tears. Maybe he was, he was realizing, feeling a lump of frustration lodge in his throat. He hastily stood, resolving to finish tying his laces once out on the street where he could breathe, and threw his bag over his shoulder.

But Haru was already on his feet and blocking his exit. “Rin.”

“Move—out of the way.” They did a little dance around the bench, Haru weaving to block his escape, and when Rin turned on his heel to just walk down to the other end of the aisle, Haru stopped him with a hand on his shoulder that Rin tried to slap away—only to find himself whirled around and slammed back against the lockers with nearly enough force to knock the wind from Rin’s lungs. There was a combination lock digging into his shoulder blade, but Haru wasn’t budging. Clearly he hadn’t been as preoccupied in the weight room as Rin had assumed. Rin took a steadying breath, closing his eyes and doing a five count. “Let. Me go.”

“Will you talk?”

“Aren’t we talking now?” Haru’s grip on his shoulder tightened in threat, and Rin released a huffing sigh and rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There is.”

“We don’t talk. We screw.”

“I know.” Haru eased his grip, drawing his weight off of Rin. When Rin didn’t bolt, he took a step back. “Maybe we should.”

Rin raised a brow. “Talk? Or screw?”

Haru shrugged. “Both.” He leveled Rin with a look. “…So was it the letters? Or Lori?”

“It’s neither—or it’s all of it, I dunno.” He shouldered past Haru to reach the bench, letting his bag drop to the floor as he took a seat. Haru stayed standing for another moment, wavering uncertainly, before awkwardly settling himself beside Rin. It was actually better that way—Rin didn’t think he could do this if he had to actually _look_ at Haru while he summarily dismantled the skeletal remains of a Good Thing. “…We’re stuck now.” He twisted the ring on his finger. “We’re—a couple, that’s what everyone thinks, and we have to go along with that. We can’t break up; we can’t ‘divorce’. Not for a long while at least. We have to play this _role_ now, put on this show, and we can’t date anyone, can’t flirt with anyone, can’t tell each other to fuck-off when we don’t want to see each other anymore—like I said, we’re stuck.” He buried his face in his hands.

Haru shifted uncomfortably beside him. “…So?”

This asshole. Couldn’t he draw a line from point A to point B? He was seriously gonna make Rin spell it out? He brushed his hair back from his face, turning on Haru with an insistent gaze. “I can’t do this.”

Haru’s eyes dropped, and his shoulders tensed. “…You want out.”

“Out? We aren’t even _in_ anything! This is—” He held up his hand, flashing the ring. “It’s not us! We were _amazing_ , god—just swimming and fucking and swimming some more? That was—that was good, right? It wasn’t just me that thought so? Not having to be ‘on’, not having people congratulate us or tell us to bring the other over to visit or any of the crap we’ve had to do this past week? When it was just so…” He grimaced in frustration. “Effortless?” He took a breath, forcing calm into his voice, because he was starting to whine, and that never resonated with Haru. “We were doing just fine screwing around, when it was no one’s business what we did or how we did it.”

He missed it, god did he miss it. Just—joy and fun and excitement. Swimming and sleeping with Haru roused the same breathtaking, bone-deep fulfilled emotions within him—and it was so _safe_ , too. Just fucking. Not dating, not being married, not being a ‘them’. There didn’t have to be any _feelings_ involved, he didn’t have to worry about Haru hurting him or ruining their relationship because there _was_ no relationship. It was just what they’d always been, except they also got each other off.

“It’s still no one’s business.” Sometimes, he wondered if Haru said things just to be contrary, like a reflex.

“Bull, it’s _everyone’s_ business now!” He threw his head back, staring up at the ceiling and letting himself get dazzled by the buzzing fluorescent bulbs. “It’s everyone’s business,” he repeated, “And it’s so… _complicated_. It used to be so simple, just us, no one else—and now…” He closed his eyes.

“You _want_ simple?”

Rin’s head snapped around, blinking the stars from his eyes as he struggled to bring Haru into focus. “…You _don’t_ want simple?”

Haru shrugged. “I’m learning to be flexible.” And that was some grade-A bullshit there—so rank, it nearly made Rin gag. Haru cocked his head curiously, unmoved by the dramatic shudder that rippled through Rin. “…Why do you think I’m here?”

“Huh?”

“Why am I doing this?” He rubbed at the ring on his finger, drawing Rin’s eye, and Rin made a face, confused.

“To stay on the team—you’re the one who brought up the idea in the first place.”

“No I didn’t.”

Rin wrinkled his nose. “Well, going public with it all was.”

Haru didn’t press the matter, instead continuing with soft reminder in his voice, “I’ve never cared about the team. It’s only a means to an end. You know we don’t share the same dream, and while this may be the quickest path to _your_ dream, there are other ways for me to achieve mine. Far less troublesome ways, at that.”

Rin straightened, the bottom of his stomach falling out and leaving him feeling sick. “…You don’t want to be on the team?”

Haru just rolled his eyes, clucking his teeth in frustration. “That’s not what I said.”

“Yeah, but—” He huffed, irritated at Haru for talking in circles. “Then why _did_ you do it?”

Haru’s hands curled into fists in his lap. “I asked you.”

“And clearly I haven’t got a clue!” He leapt to his feet, pacing the narrow path between the bench and the lockers. “But you’re not the one losing his shit over this— _I am_. So maybe you’re fine with how things have panned out, and I thought I was too, but reading those letters, talking to my mom and sister, hearing from Lori that she wants us to come _visit_? Just—” He threw his hands up. “We don’t even _like_ each other! We’re not really friends—not like you and Makoto, or like I am with Sousuke. We don’t _click_ like that, we can’t read each other’s minds. Hell, we’ve barely spent more than a few months total of our entire lives in each other’s presence. And now we’re supposed to be married? Acting like fucking husbands and picking out placemats and being role models?” He made a face. He’d always wanted to be an inspiration to kids, someone they could look up to. An everyman who found a dream and worked his ass off to achieve it. But he didn’t want to be that as a joke. As a _fake_. He rubbed at his temples, his brain pounding against the confines of his skull. “We’ve got our best friends and families and what feels like half of Japan rooting for us, wishing us well and telling us how happy they are to see us together—and just…doesn’t it make you feel…” He groaned. “ _Trapped?_ ”

It was dead silent in the locker room now; not even muffled squealing from the girls’ rooms on the other side of the wall. The janitorial staff would be by soon, and while they wouldn’t be rustled out, they _would_ lose any privacy, and Rin didn’t want to have this conversation again. He didn’t think he _could_.

“You were right.” Rin blinked, cocking his head to look at Haru, who was leaning forward on his knees with his head resting against his clasped hands. He looked…tired. Defeated. And what should have been the rush of victory instead left Rin feeling nauseated, as he listed to the side to support his weight against the row of lockers. Haru lifted his head, staring straight ahead with his gaze hard and distant. “We were good before.” Rin swallowed, but there was a lump in his throat that wasn’t having it, and he choked down a breath and whispered _fuck fuck fuck_ inside his head. Why did he always have to get his heart broken in locker rooms? Nothing good ever happened here. Maybe Haru had the right of it, walking around in his jammers. He never had to step foot in a locker room if he didn’t really want to. What a smart guy.

But then Haru stood, made a fist with his left hand, and said: “But we could be better.”

Rin’s heart stopped, and then it started again, doing double-time to catch up on the missed beats. “What…?” There was a ringing in his ears, and everything seemed off-kilter. He really, really needed Haru not to mess around with him right now.

“I don’t feel trapped.” Rin’s face must have gone funny, for he clarified, “You asked if I felt trapped—and I don’t. I haven’t once. How could I?” He frowned to himself, perplexed by his own question. “Being with you is so freeing.”

Rin’s heart did that stopping-starting-double-beat-to-catch-up thing again, and he was really gonna need it to stop doing that, because he couldn’t process Haru’s words when he was standing here having a medical emergency. “I’m—freeing?”

“No, you’re annoying. I said being with you was freeing.” Rin recovered his wits enough to mutter _asshole_ under his breath, but Haru didn’t seem to hear, continuing on unimpeded. “Let’s go away.”

“Wh—run away?” It felt like Haru was two strokes ahead in the last ten meters, leaving Rin no hope of catching up.

“No, _go_ away.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket, drawing out his phone, and punched through to the calendar application. “…We’ve got that training camp in Wakayama next month. It’ll be nice to do something fun before then.”

“Fun?” Rin still wasn’t following. “Go away—where?”

Haru shrugged, snapping his phone shut. “Wherever. What does it matter?”

“I—well it—” Rin sputtered, irritation mounting anew. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Haru turned to face him straight on, shoulders square and eyes hard, decided, and unwavering. “If you don’t want it to be fake—then make it real. If you say we aren’t friends, then let’s become friends. If everyone’s wishing us happiness together, then let’s be happy together.” Rin wondered if he should be sitting down right now—and just in case, he did, settling back down onto the bench while Haru rambled on. “We’ll go on a date, I suppose. We won’t be married—we’ll just be two people, trying to see if they like each other.”

The word _date_ set red lights flashing in Rin’s mind, and he started. “You—what the hell, you want to _go on a date_ with me?”

“I guess it’ll actually be more of an extended weekend, but if that’s what you’d rather call it.”

Rin’s mouth was dry now, though the lump in his throat had eased, and he was certain he was going to pass out at any moment, because dating—a _relationship_ , which is what it sounded like Haru was suggesting they try, was a hell of a lot of work. Rin had never shied away from that, but avoiding too much effort was Haru’s _raison d’etre_ it felt like sometimes. “…Why?” he couldn’t help asking, because he really needed something to start making sense, or he was gonna pass out. “You—this is your _worst nightmare_. I mean geez, you’ve known me for years: please tell me you’re not under some delusion that dating me would be anything but the biggest fucking chore you’ve ever set your mind to.”

“I’m beginning to get the idea.” At least the holy bonds of matrimony hadn’t stopped Haru from being a sarcastic little shit.

“I’m—needy and demanding and I get pissed when people aren’t as romantic as me—”

“Stop, I’m falling harder.”

“—And what, you’re gonna start remembering anniversaries or something?”

“Ours can be today; there, I’ve remembered it.”

“And you’re assuming I’d _want_ to date you! You’re not exactly selling me!”

“You want to,” Haru stated with so much blunt surety Rin wanted to send him through the lockers.

He restrained himself, though just barely. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed, sobering. “…You still didn’t answer me, though: _Why_?”

Haru brought his hand up to his chest, rubbing the band with a pinched frown. “…Because you’re not the only one who wants it not to be fake.” And then, because apparently today was a day for sending Rin into cardiac arrest, he dropped to one knee and tugged the ring off his finger. “Give me yours.”

Rin flinched, leaning away from Haru’s outstretched hand. “Huh?”

“Your ring—give it to me.”

Rin reflexively looked down at his own hand, suddenly protective of the band and unwilling to part with it. “…Why?” Haru just kept his hand out, insistent, and Rin eventually mumbled a few choice words under his breath before pulling off his ring and placing it in Haru’s palm. 

Haru then slipped the band on his own finger—Rin would’ve thought it might sit loosely, but it seemed to hold snug—and passed his own over to Rin in exchange. “Here.” Rin raised a dubious brow, and evidently fed up with not being trusted, Haru reached for Rin’s left hand and placed the ring on his finger himself with a huff. Rin vacillated between irritation at being manhandled that way and a bone-deep thrum of elation because _fuck_ , Haru’d just placed a ring on his finger, even if it wasn’t Rin’s. “Hold on to it.”

Rin’s mouth was doing funny things, so Rin kept his face downturned, marveling at the band. “…Okay?”

“And then…” He trailed off, and Rin made himself look up, because Haru’d seemed pretty confident this whole while—what was he balking at now? Haru had dropped his gaze, focus off to the side—so he couldn’t see the weird things Rin’s mouth was doing anyways. “When you want to see me wear it again, just give it back to me.” He ducked his head. “…I’ll do the same with yours.” 

Oh. _Oh_. Rin felt his face heat—shit, Haru was gonna put him in the hospital. He was fucking going to murder Rin, and would that count as spousal homicide? Was there a special word for that kind of thing? He just drew his first to his chest, clutching his free hand around it, and nodded. “…’Kay.”

This was ridiculous; _they_ were ridiculous. Who did this kind of thing? They’d done everything out of order—fucking and _then_ getting married and _then_ dating. It was a recipe for disaster—but then, that was kind of their _thing_. Getting too close, twining themselves together until they couldn’t live apart and only then realizing they didn’t really know each other. Taking the long way around, scaring each other shitless with stop-starts and hesitation and doing everything in their power to keep one another in their sights. 

“…Do I at least get to choose where we go away to?”

“No; you’ll like my choice better.”

“What the—what makes you so sure?”

Haru eased back to his feet, dusting off the knees of his training pants. “Because you don’t have a choice.”

Rin hopped up, tugging on his jacket to put himself back in order. “The hell kind of invitation on a date is that? I told you—I require romance and seduction.”

“Why do I need to seduce you? You already want me.” He started down the aisle, leaving Rin to scramble for his bag.

“I—well, that’s—I mean, you’ve gotta put _some_ effort in here!”

“Rin, spend the night again.”

“Because I’m—what?” His stomach pulled a flip, and he teetered unsteadily, and even though he couldn’t see Haru’s face, he was pretty sure he was smirking. “Listen asshole, don’t think you can solve every argument with—”

“Who the hell is still in here bitching about—augh, for _fuck’s sake_ , not you two again!” Miura lumbered into view just around the corner, evidently having come to see what stragglers were left in the locker rooms to give the custodial crew the go-ahead to start their rounds. He glowered at Haru and Rin imperiously. “The last two weeks didn’t teach you to get in and out of the locker rooms as quick as humanly possible? I swear to…”

“Good night, Coach,” Haru offered shortly, ducking his head as he slipped around Miura and out the door.

Rin bit back a curse, smiling wanly at Miura as he tried to follow Haru’s lead. “…See you tomorrow, Coach.”

“I mean it, Matsuoka,” Miura called to his retreating form. “If I hear about any _funny business_ going on in here—”

He didn’t catch the rest of the threat, though. He needed to stop by his apartment and pick up a change of clothes for Haru’s place tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

In retrospect, Rin probably should have demanded he be allowed at least _some_ say in where they went away to for their first—and it still gave him a little thrill to even think it, which made him feel like a preteen—date. Maybe if he had, they could have at least had a spirited debate before Haru eventually got his way and they went somewhere involving so much water. As it is, though, they’re here, in the middle of fucking nowhere, in some remote wooded reserve that Haru claims has excellent hiking trails and water features. Rin had been more concerned about the lodging, but all things considered, the place was pretty nice. Haru had confessed he’d only been here as a kid on a field trip with his classroom, but apparently there are some fairly decent private cabins that can be rented out for visitors who want to enjoy a nice, relaxing weekend.

Or who just want to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city to commune with nature as they work to drill one another into the unexpectedly plush mattress of their king-size bed.

The mattress bounced as Rin flopped down onto his back, thighs aching and chest heaving. It wasn’t exactly the relaxing get-away they’d planned, but it felt damn good being able to do this again without worrying it might fall apart at any second. It wasn’t as simple as before, because they still hadn’t really _talked_ about…you know, the stuff that made a relationship a _relationship_ and not just two acquaintances screwing when the urge struck them. But in Rin’s defense, Haru hadn’t really brought it up either, so maybe he was just as worried about ruining their Good Thing as Rin. 

Rin grinned up at the ceiling, stretching all four limbs with a satisfied grunt before releasing a long, sated sigh. “We really ought to do that more often.”

“We do it practically every chance we get already,” Haru reminded pointedly, but he had his eyes shut and his features were smooth and relaxed as he came down from his post-coital high.

“ _Almost_ every chance isn’t _every_ chance.” Rin rolled onto his side, propping himself up with one elbow. “Surely we can do better, Nanase.” This threatened to draw a grin from Haru, against his every effort otherwise, and Rin gave a mental fist-pump of victory.

“We’ve barely left the cabin all weekend; it defeats the purpose of coming out here.”

Rin shrugged. “We’re still having fun aren’t we? I know I am.”

Haru frowned, opening one eye just to glare at Rin. “You’re too easy to please.”

Rin reached over with a toe and ran it along the inside of Haru’s bare leg. “If I were more difficult to please, you’d complain that sleeping with me was ‘too annoying’ though.”

Haru had no snappy comeback to that, staring in silent contemplation at Rin for a beat so long it started to get uncomfortable before he finally asked, “…So how does it compare?”

Rin didn’t follow, blinking in confusion. “How does what compare? To what?”

“This.” Haru waved a hand around the bedroom of their cabin. It was a little overfurnished and smelled more like mothballs and less like the fresh spruce growing right outside the window, but it was decent for the short-notice booking and price. “How does this date compare to others you’ve been on?”

Rin couldn’t help it—he laughed. So hard, the overworked muscles in his abdomen twinged in reproach, and he winced with a smile. “…Y’know, you’ve got a really funny idea of what constitutes a date.”

Haru glanced around, as if only just realizing where they were. “…We’re out together, doing things couples do. That should count.” And then, because Rin’s shoulders were still shaking with giggles that hadn’t yet died away, he added with a petulant bite, “And if it didn’t suit you, you could have said something.”

“Now why would I do a thing like that? Camping? So deep in the woods there’s no cell service? So you could introduce me to your first love—a waterfall? Which, some free advice: most dates don’t involve taking your new lovers to meet your old ones. You’re lucky I’m not the jealous type.”

Haru made a face like he’d smelled something terrible. “You’re absolutely the jealous type.”

Rin ignored him, pressing on. “Anyway, I’m just saying: I’m totally gonna kick your ass when it’s my turn to take you on a date.”

“Are you, now?” Haru’s tone was even, unimpressed.

“Well I sure as hell won’t be taking you to meet ‘my first love’.”

“That’s because that’s me.” He rolled out of the way when Rin’s foot shot out in an effort to kick him out of the bed. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Ah, right. The comparison. Rin sighed, shaking his head. “Well, seeing as your next nearest competition was a boardwalk date that 14-year-old me took with…I guess she’d have been my ‘host cousin’? You’re safely holding the ‘best date I’ve ever been on’ spot. For _now_.” Haru had the nerve to look just a little bit smug at this, as if this were some great achievement. “But like I said! Next weekend, get ready to have your socks blown off. Among other things.”

Haru pursed his lips at the suggestive language. “…You can’t have sex all weekend and call it a date.”

“And yet here we are.” Haru opened his mouth to protest, and Rin rolled his eyes. “I know, I know—sorry.” He settled back onto his pillow, staring up at the ceiling again. There were twenty-seven knots in the beams above their heads; he’d counted them all trying to get to sleep the night before because the cicadas just would _not_ shut up. “…It’s just nice, being able to…do this kind of thing without—you know. Worrying about stuff. I get carried away.”

“And away. And away again. And then a meal—and then carried away _again_.” Haru glanced down at himself, lifting the sheet. “It’s going to fall off if we keep going at this rate.”

“Clearly we should switch more, then.” He’d let Haru decide what they did and how they did it—but not how frequently, _sucker_!—since it was his date, but next weekend there would be payback. “Or we could just _not_ do it.”

He’d meant it to tease, but Haru seemed to actually consider it, brows furrowed in thought. “…No,” he seemed to settle on, thank god. “But aren’t we supposed to be doing more?”

“You want to do it _more_?!”

“ _No_ —” Haru huffed, then corrected a little more quickly than Rin might have expected, “That is, we do it—I mean, it’s…fine. The amount we do it now.”

“No more, but no less?” Rin grinned. “And here I was convinced _I_ was the romantic one.”

Haru rolled over, hair pasted to his forehead with cooling sweat, and he glared up at Rin with a warning look. “…You’re right, this doesn’t feel much like a date.”

Rin wrinkled his nose. “Maybe not. But it’s not so bad. I’m enjoying myself.”

“It’s not supposed to be about enjoying yourself.”

“It’s isn’t? I thought that was supposed to be pretty much the point of a date. If you aren’t enjoying yourself, then it’s _definitely_ a bad date.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t be going on dates…”

Rin shifted up onto his elbows, frowning down at Haru, who’d rolled over futher to press his face into his pillow. “…The fuck is that supposed to mean?” When Haru didn’t say anything, he grabbed for the pillow and pulled it away, tossing it to the wayside. “Oi, I asked you a—”

“It still doesn’t feel real yet.” He settled onto his back, staring up at Rin. “I thought this was supposed to do that…but you still feel so far away.”

Rin raised one brow, not quite following. “…I’m right here, idiot.” And lest Haru misunderstand that he meant only his physical proximity, and reached out to brush away a few strands of hair that were falling into Haru’s eyes. “I’m where I’ve always been.”

“I know.” He brought a hand up to hold Rin’s, gingerly tracing the ring— _Haru’s_ ring, actually—with a long finger. “That’s what I said: It doesn’t feel real yet. It feels the same as before, when we were just…doing this.” So, sleeping together. “I thought it was supposed to feel different now.” He didn’t have to say what he really meant: _I thought you wanted it to be different_.

And Rin _did_ ; fuck, he didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything more in his life. And he’d never _not_ wanted anything more in his life either.

Because Haru scared the shit out of him. Rin was _terrified_. He’d spent the last couple of weeks in pretty much a perpetual state of shit-your-pants scared, worry eating a hole in his stomach like acid through a shouji door—first because he’d thought he might lose his job, then because he’d thought he might lose _Haru_ even if he got to keep his job. And now—now it was because he really, really didn’t want to screw this up.

He’d finally gotten Haru _here_ , finally gotten him to open up to the idea of being something more than just friends, just people who slept together—and okay, maybe it was Haru who’d been the one to bully Rin into it in the end, but Rin had been the one to _want it_ first, and that had to count for something. Regardless of the route they’d taken, they were here, together, after years of one-sided, heart-aching pining, and Rin was all too conscious of just how easily this fragile budding relationship could shatter.

Because the closer they got, the more time they spent together—the more Haru would come to _know_ him. Every last inch, every nook and cranny—every dark, demented, depraved bit of him. He’d realize how much Rin _ached_ for him, how he’d wanted him at 11 and 12 and 13 and every year since with increasing intensity. How he’d wanted Haru before he even _knew_ Haru, just longing for this ineffable, indescribable entity that would settle just out of his reach and give him something to chase after with all his might. 

He’d find out about how deep Rin loved, how _hard_ Rin loved, and then Haru would be just as scared as Rin. He’d be overwhelmed, disgusted—he’d back away, _run_ away, to avoid getting sucked into the stinking swamp that was Matsuoka Rin’s feelings. And Rin wouldn’t blame him; he sure as hell didn’t know how _Sousuke_ had managed it all these years. Maybe the time apart while Rin was in Australia had been all that had saved their friendship, a welcome breather from Rin’s suffocating emotional constipation.

So he could do it. He couldn’t open up like Haru claimed he wanted, couldn’t let things get _too_ ‘different’, because Haru wasn’t ready for that. Probably wouldn’t ever be ready, and that was fine too. It was hell enough Rin having to deal with this _himself_ ; he wouldn’t wish it on his own worst enemy, let alone Haru. 

He shrugged, forcing a sly little smile, and let his fingers thread through Haru’s. “Things _are_ different, don’t you think? A little change of venue, some fresh air, and I think I’d remember if you’d done _that_ to me before…” He lifted his brows, trying to tease a grudging smile from Haru—but instead, his frown only deepened.

Haru shifted upright—and that couldn’t be good. “Stop that.”

“Stop—what?”

“Changing the subject. Avoiding me. I don’t like it.”

Rin drew back, stung, but took care to keep it from showing on his features. Since when did Haru say things like that? He’d rarely been so… _overt_ with his likes and dislikes, never so demanding. Sure, he’d make it known when he didn’t want to do something or objected to something, but it usually came on the tail end of someone else’s request. A response, a reaction—not proaction of his own. “…I’m not changing the subject. You’re taking this conversation way more seriously than—”

“Exactly. I’m taking it seriously, and you aren’t.”

Rin could feel his ire rising, ears burning as he fought the urge to snap back. Spending so much time around Haru had, at least, helped him learn to roll with the waves when he wanted to fight them. Some of the time, at least. “…I don’t know what you want, then.”

Haru’s lips thinned into a tight line, and his shoulders hunched. He looked…unsure. A little lost. And that didn’t happen either. It was almost like Haru gave a shit about—this. “Then try saying what _you_ want instead.”

Rin swallowed, blood pumping loudly in his ears, and he drew his knees to his chest. They’d thrown off the sheets in the course of their ‘activities’, leaving the linens to pool in a rumpled pile on the floor, and he felt overly conscious of his nudity just now, with Haru staring at him the way he was. It wasn’t even _sexual_ —it was just…heavy. And needy. Rin felt like he needed three layers between them to feel comfortable.

“You said…before…that maybe I wasn’t the only one who wanted it to be real.” He kept his focus in the middle-distance and hugged his knees tighter. “I don’t think you would’ve said that if you knew what this being real meant to me.” And before Haru could spout some bullshit like _Did I say that?_ or _We’ve been sleeping together for a few months now and suddenly you know what I want?_ or _Of course I would have_ , Rin pressed on with, “I’m not like you.”

“That much I gathered.” Oh good; there was the snarky jackass Rin had been missing.

“I _mean_ that this?” He gestured between them. “It’s—different for me. From how it is for you. And what ‘real’ means for me is different from what it’d mean for you.”

“Elaborate.”

He wanted to throttle the guy—and only just barely reined in the urge. “Real…real is…” He swallowed, closing his eyes, and took a breath. “Real is everything you hate. It’s being around you just because _fuck_ it feels good just being in the same room as you, hearing you breathe and sitting close enough to touch if I wanted to but not feeling like I need to because it’s _real_. It’s—you doing what you want and me doing what I want both of those things being what _we_ want because we talk about stuff like that, tweak our futures just a little bit so that it’s not just _my_ future or _your_ future but _our_ future, our _real_ future. It’s romantic and sappy and hard work and high reward and it’s annoying as fuck and…and it’s…just…”

“…It’s real.” Haru’s voice was flat. Expressionless. Unreadable.

“It’s _me_ ,” Rin corrected, not daring to open his eyes because he could already feel the hot pressure knocking behind them, threatening to spill out as tears—because that was _just_ what this conversation needed. “I wasn’t kidding before—I’m…” He grimaced. “A challenge.”

A long beat passed between them, silence split only by the incessant din of the cicadas and the odd songbird warbling in the distance. “…Is that all?”

Rin’s head shot up, eyes wide. “You—you’re the one who told me to take this seriously, asshole! So don’t give me that shit when—”

“I just thought there might be more. Are you done, then?”

“ _Might be mo_ —” At least Rin wasn’t about to cry anymore.

Haru rolled off the mattress, padding around the room in search of something—his boxers, apparently, given he was lifting pillows and blankets and other discarded items of clothing in the effort. “And I think it’s different too.”

A cold chill settled in Rin’s stomach. “…Yeah.” He felt sick.

Haru found his boxers, presenting Rin with a quick glimpse of his rear before he covered it in goldfish-patterned black silk-blend—one of Rin’s demands: no swimwear this trip. “But we’ve always taken different routes to get to the same place.” He threw something at Rin, who sputtered as a piece of fabric hit him in the face. “Get dressed.”

Rin held the fabric out at arm’s length, then made a face. “The f—geez, these are my boxers! Gross!”

“They’re _your_ boxers; that’s not gross. Now put them on.” He was searching for—yup, his undershirt now.

“What? Why?” Check-out wasn’t for another few hours; Rin had been hoping to get another round or two in before they actually had to start making themselves decent, though he supposed this conversation had put a firm stop to _that_. Perhaps this was Haru’s ever-eloquent way of saying as such.

Haru straightened, his jeans draped over his arm. “I like challenges.”

Flippant. Unthinking. Not a Haru response at all. “…The hell you do. You _hate_ working for things.”

“I hate annoying things. I hate working for no reason, no reward. Worthless challenges are just that—worthless.” Rin could still hear those protests like a mantra Haru had repeated to himself: _I don’t care about times. I don’t care about winning_. “…But nothing you’ve ever challenged me to has been worthless.” His shoulders hunched again in a gesture Rin was starting to realize indicated shame. Embarrassment. Nanase Haruka got _embarrassed_. Well if that didn’t take the whole damn cake. “It just sometimes took a while to realize it.”

Rin frowned, watching Haru go through the motions of dressing. “…I can’t wait a while. I can’t just sit here and _hope_ that—”

“There’s things Matsuoka Rin ‘can’t’ do? That’s new…” He’d pulled on a t-shirt now: one from a training camp the summer prior featuring a stylized moray eel in oversized sunglasses. It was hideous, so of course Haru loved it. “Eleven-year-old you would be ashamed of you.”

“Eleven-year-old me isn’t exactly the foremost authority on our relationship.”

“Isn’t he?” And okay, maybe Haru kind of had a point there.

Rin wasn’t going to let Haru off like that, though—if he wasn’t going to let Rin use sex to tease his way out of a difficult conversation, then Rin wasn’t going to let Haru feign stupidity to the same ends. “I _won’t_ wait, Haru. I waited this long for it to be real—I can’t…I won’t make myself wait longer.”

Haru seemed to mull this over for a moment, then nodded. “Two weeks.”

“What?”

“You’ll have to wait at least that long.”

How had he not grown used to Haru’s whiplash changes in conversation gear over the years? “A—two weeks? Haru what the hell are—”

“But not your place.” He tapped his chin. “I don’t like western layouts, if I can avoid them.”

“Western layouts…?”

“A 2DK at least. Southern exposure this time; I hate waking up with the sun in my eyes.” He turned up the flap on his messenger bag, rifling through it. “I reserve the right to reject any of your suggestions if I don’t like the kitchen. Or the bathroom. No unit baths.”

His _suggestions_? “Seriously, Haru, I swear I’m gonna—”

“If you don’t want your eleven-year-old self dictating how we handle our relationship, then don’t let my eleven-year-old self dictate it either.” He straightened, throwing Rin a long look over his shoulder. “I don’t scare as easily these days.”

And then Rin actually _listened_ to what he’d been babbling about the past two minutes. “…Holy shit. You want us to live together.”

“…You do, too.”

Oh god, this was a terrible idea. “Oh god, that is a terrible idea.”

“It wouldn’t be the first terrible idea we’ve acted on.” Nor, Rin admitted silently, would it really be the worst. At least any fallout from realizing they weren’t fit to be roommates wouldn’t involve public scandal.

Rin ran a hand through his hair, still processing. “That’s…we don’t have to do…”

“You said that’s what real is for you, though.” And he _had_ , sure, but…

“I didn’t think you’d _do it_ , idiot…” Haru’s frown of confusion at this was probably fair; Rin was sending all sorts of mixed signals just now. “It was just…wishful thinking. Daydreaming out loud.”

“You sounded serious. You said it was real.” No, he’d said he _wanted_ it to be real, but Haru didn’t need to be reminded of that. Rin looked away, and shortly, the mattress dipped as Haru settled beside him. It was kind of funny, the way Haru was fully dressed while Rin hadn’t even put on the boxers Haru had tossed at him yet. “You never asked me.”

“…Asked what?”

“What real is for me. You just assumed you knew what it was. And that it was different from what real was for you.” In retrospect, that probably hadn’t been fair—but Rin stood by his assumption, and Haru _had_ said he thought it was different too. When you spent this long pining for someone, learning their likes and dislikes and trying to figure out just how much of yourself you’d be comfortable changing for them, you developed a pretty good read on them. Haru leaned closer, bangs brushing Rin’s and near enough Rin could feel his body heat radiating through the layers. “Real is you finally believing me.”

 _Fuck_. That was probably one of the hardest things anyone had ever asked him to do. He looked up, forcing himself to meet Haru’s eyes—they were nearly touching noses now. “…See? Different.” He was feeling just a little contrary.

“But not conflicting.” He brought a hand up to brace against Rin’s jaw, and Rin hated how he turned into it, how it felt like he fit _just right_. “You swim Butterfly…I only swim Free.”

Rin had to snort at that. “That’s you being romantic? Bringing in the swimming metaphors?” Haru frowned at this, and Rin realized that _oh shit_ he’d actually been trying. He tried to save the moment. “…It’s not that I don’t _want_ to believe you, you know.” Haur _hmm_ ed softly, unconvinced. “It’s not. Just… It’s one thing to lose you when I can’t help it. It’s something a hell of a lot scarier when I lose you…and it’s all my fault.”

He tried to draw away, but Haru brought up his other hand and held him fast, forcing him to look him in the eye. “And you think I don’t feel the same way? You think I don’t worry about seeming…cold. Unmoved. Apathetic. Like you’re a chore; like this is annoying? You think I don’t wonder when you’ll decide that ten years of trying hasn’t paid off, just because I can’t show you the same sights you show me? Can’t even show I appreciate those sights?”

Rin liked to joke that Haru was a cold fish, and he felt a sudden wrench in his gut as realization sank in that shit, _Haru thought that too_. “…I…I couldn’t do that. I could _never_ …” He shook his head, bringing his hands up to grab Haru’s wrists—though he didn’t pull them away, just held on tight. “I mean—fuck, I love you? If I could stop that, believe me, I would have…” He trailed off, tongue gone dry and voice raspy because _what the hell had he just said?_

If Haru thought anything of it, though, he didn’t show it. “I know. Because I believe you.” His brows furrowed in that pinched way they did when he was starting to get irritated. “So will _you_ believe _me_?”

Rin swallowed. The tears were back, dammit, knocking on the backs of his eyes. They could stay there and rot; he wasn’t letting them out. “…I refuse to eat mackerel every night.”

“As long as you’re happy to prepare your own meals. Otherwise no complaints.”

“You sound like a crappy roommate.”

Haru shrugged. “I’m not going to be your 'roommate', so what does it matter?”

Rin hunched his shoulders; he could see why Haru did it now. It made you feel a little smaller—put the other person a little further away and gave you a minute to breathe. “…It’s gotta be a southern exposure?”

“I wouldn’t object to northern.”

“But an eastern exposure makes it easier to wake up.”

“So does an alarm clock.”

Rin bit back a smile and shook his head. His fingers clenched in the fabric of his boxers—decorated in Olympic rings, a gag gift from Gou. “…My name gets to be first on the nameplate, then.”

This might turn out to be a real good idea or a real bad idea, but either way—it would be _real_.


End file.
